


Cold Blooded

by headraline



Series: Detroit: Become Human Prompts [25]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Assassin AU, I blame discord for this one too, M/M, More characters to come, More tags to come later, Why do I do this to myself, assassin!Connor, because I'm rubbish at that, but not too slow, human!AU, inaccurate archery, medium-slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-01-07 12:46:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18410945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/headraline/pseuds/headraline
Summary: Connor prides himself on being the best of the best. He always accomplishes his mission, he always keeps casualties to a minimum, and he always terminates his intended target.Why would this next assignment be any different?





	1. Expect the unexpected

**Author's Note:**

> LET IT BE KNOWN I BLAME COURT AND MIMORU ENTIRELY FOR THIS.  
> 100%
> 
> I just  
> y'all want me dead.  
> Too many ideas that are just too good to pass up!!!! ARGH.
> 
> The violence warning probably won't get to be useful until later...  
> ...then again, the prologue does start with a deadass murder, even though it's not particularly gruesome.
> 
> I just.  
> Idk.  
> Take any complaints up with the rk1k discord.  
> I can't deal. XD ♥

It hasn’t always been like this, no.

The night is quiet, and when it’s so quiet Connor always get a little prone to reminiscing, especially when the stakeout turns out to be a long one.

He barely even remembers the last time someone called him _Connor_ ; he’s been RK800 for so long.

Oh, he’s got plenty of names, he burns through identities like matches, though he does have a few more fleshed out ones he keeps as contingency plans; one of them even still has ‘Connor’ as his given name… it’s just been years since the last time someone actually _knew_ him.

Decades, even.

For whatever reason, his mind goes to the years from elementary to middle school— he remembers a shy, dorky child, born of rich parents and as such slightly detached from reality. The most naïve concepts of good and bad had more often than not got the boy into trouble and Connor to save his skinny ass.

He struggles to remember the kid’s name. Mitch? Matt? Mark?

It was something with an ‘M’.

Damn it, this will bother him for weeks. Connor idly wonders what became of that dorky child.

Sometimes, on slow nights like this one, he also wonders how the hell he ended up as a professional assassin, but he’s long learned to keep that can of worms closed, most of the time.

Sighing, he huddles a bit into his hoodie and pretends to be trying and failing to light a cigarette –it doesn’t look too out of place for a man to be smoking alone just out of a sleazy yet highbrow night club.

There— movement to his 1100.

“Finally, jeez.” He mumbles to himself, pulling his hood further up his head and stumbling out of the alleyway he was hiding in, looking for all intents and purposes like just another drunkard or drug addict.

All it takes is a bump. He’s falling over in the arms of his target and it’s done.

A slurred “sorry, man”, a grab at the target’s arm as he struggles to get up, just enough time to pinch and press, right before he’s shooed away by the man’s bodyguards.

One of them shoves Connor hard enough to knock him down on the asphalt, where he stays with a whimper after getting kicked in the stomach just for the hell of it. The bodyguards sneer at the faceless junkie for a second, then lead their wealthy charge to the car that was waiting for them, but it’s already too late.

Connor has successfully injected potassium chloride in the man’s veins; he will have a heart attack within the next seven minutes.

Was it Martin? Madras?

…It was for sure something with two syllables.

Resigning himself to being frustrated about this memory lapse until it clears for him, Connor picks himself up from the pavement and walks away.

 

One abandoned parking lot later, Connor looks at himself in the rearview mirror of his car, straightens up the knot of his tie just a little and smooths over a non-existent crease in his pristine, perfect grey blazer.

Time to head home and celebrate a job well done by listening to cheesy 90s’ pop in his pjs while cuddling his cat.

He gets two feet past the front door before snapping to attention and pointing his gun at the soon to be dead intruder.

“Put that away, RK800, it’s just me.”

“Damn it, Chloe!” he huffs, pocketing the weapon again, “Would it kill you to wait for me and _knock_?”

The blonde rolls her perfectly lined eyes at him. “Sure, I’ll risk being seen in the neighborhood for the sake of _your sense of decency_.”

“I lose a year of life every time you decide to pay a visit…” Still, he’s kind of grateful. Chloe is not like everyone else at the agency –he actually enjoys talking to her. She doesn’t pester him about his past or his _feelings_ and yet she’s one to actually care about _how_ he feels at a given moment.

Subtle differences.

Chloe is probably a fake name and they know very little about each other, but she’s the closest thing Connor has to a friend, even though, as his handler, she’s technically his superior.

Semantics, as she so often likes to say.

After all, she’s already made herself comfortable on one of his breakfast bar stools, in her elegant black pencil skirt and cyan blouse, with a glass of something that suggest she’s been into his cocktail cabinet.

“So… how did it go?” she asks, peach pink lips already curled up in a smile.

He’d level her with an indignant look if he didn’t know it was a rhetorical question. Instead, he just gets into the kitchen and takes a beer for himself from the fridge.

“I want half in Barbados and half on the German account.”

Chloe chuckles at the non-answer, nodding in approval. “You had clearance for collateral damage, and yet did a very clean job. Amanda is impressed.”

Anyone who’s ever known Amanda, even just a little, would be surprised to hear those words in a sequence— not that anyone could ever really _know_ Amanda… Connor has been an assassin for hire in this organization since his early teens and he’s only ever been in the same room with the Lady once. And they were still separated by a screen, so he only ever saw her shadow even as he heard her voice.

Still. Connor prides himself on being the best of the best, his one motto is _‘I always accomplish my mission’_ and so far, no matter how unsavory, he has _always_ delivered.

He doesn’t ask stupid questions, never needs more information than what is provided, and he always does as clean a job as it can possibly be done. Connor also prides himself on limiting casualties –and thus the necessary cleanup– to a strict minimum.

With all this taken into account, he measures his response. “Is she, now?”

Chloe nods again.

“So impressed, in fact, that you have four whole weeks off.”

Yeah, right. It probably means that the next assignment will require roughly that much time to prepare.

“New mission?”

“You’re a hard one to fool, aren’t you?” Chloe’s smile doesn’t leave her face, and he shoots her a deadpan look.

“How long have you known me?”

She has to concede that point.

“Fair enough. Good old Detroit.” She reveals, reaching into her purse to pull out an envelope that she slides over to him. “Change your face, pick an identity. Inside you’ll find a tenancy agreement to be filled with a name of your choice, a rechargeable debit card and the usual paperwork to get yourself started.”

“Objective?”

“You’ll receive it as soon as you take possession of the apartment keys.”

Pretty standard contract, then. Connor nods. “Got it.” He says, “Can I get you a refill?”

He turns to get a bottle from his cocktail cabinet, quietly pondering what to offer for a moment, but when he turns back Chloe is already gone.

 _One_ day he’ll find out how she keeps doing that.

 

For his newest mission, Connor decides to grow out his hair a bit and go back to brown. He’s been platinum blonde way too long. He also takes his favorite identity –it’s always best to try and make it so that you don’t _have_ to remember which name you’re carrying at the moment.

Moving into the apartment is easy, he goes as soon as the brown settles back into his hair, even though his four weeks are not up yet –for added realism and because it’s not like he can call a pet sitter at his _real_ address, he even brought his cat along.

He unpacks his regular stuff, goes to buy himself some groceries, then makes a mental note of which cupboards he can make a double bottom for to hide all his weapons and sensitive objects in.

A visit to the DIY store seems to be in order.

Connor hates taking the bus, but his motorbike is not ready yet, it’ll be another ten days or so before it’s nice and untraceable. He gets the things he needs and a few he doesn’t, to make it look like he’s fixing a broken shelving unit, he smiles politely at the girl at the cash desk and gives her a goodbye just flirtatious enough to make her shy about talking to him, but not enough to be a creep.

It’s a tight rope to walk on, but it works.

As he walks down the street, Connor is still thinking about that one kid— he’s got his name on the tip of his tongue.

Mervin? Michael?

He had the most peculiar feature growing up –his eyes were two different colors, after a bicycle accident, apparently. Connor remembers meeting his childhood friend just outside of school, when some asshole kids were making fun of him for his eyes… the child tried to look like it didn’t bother him, but Connor simply couldn’t stand that dejected little pout, so he walked up to the other and told him _he_ thought that his eyes were cool.

Someone bumping into him startles him violently out of his musing.

Feeling a hot rush of embarrassment at having been caught so off-guard that he even stopped paying attention to where he was going, Connor locates the source of the disturbance: the man is already on the floor, picking up the copious amounts of art supplies he dropped upon impact and apologizing profusely.

“I’m so sorry! It’s usually so early around this time that no one’s really around, so I just carry my things around like a jackass— did anything spill on you?”

Time seems to slow down for Connor, once the stranger stands back up and looks at him. He feels and hears his lips move and mumble out the answer, “No, I’m fine…” but he’s pretty much going on autopilot for these few moments.

He looks much taller than Connor remembers, though that’s a given, considering it’s been something close to fourteen years since they saw each other last, but everything else is practically the same. The differently colored eyes, the freckles, even the scar splitting his right eyebrow in half.

Six feet and then some, and much broader and more muscular than any growth spurt should legally be allowed to make someone, but there he is. And the name that had been eluding Connor’s mind for weeks naturally clicks into place and leaves his mouth, while the poor bastard is still apologizing-

“…Markus?”

“—m so, so sorry, and… what?” Finally, his rambling ceases –another thing that stayed the same– and Markus blinks at him a couple of times. He’s confused at first, but realization creeps up to him and, eventually, recognition. “I can’t believe it… Connor?!”

This is bad. Every fiber of his assassin training tells him that this is bad. Any person who recognizes you is bad, but one that recognizes you _and_ knows who you were when you were just a snotty nosed little ankle biter? Worse.

Yet part of Connor’s mind is already rationalizing this: he’s a new face in a residential neighborhood; an ‘old friend’ being glad that he happens to be in town could be beneficial to his cover, if used wisely.

The pros and cons in his mind rattle themselves off fast and hard, and his mouth is already moving: “It’s me, Connor!” he confirms, mirroring Markus’ smile with a small one of his own, “How have you been, Markus?”

“Me? Good, good…” Markus seems still astonished that they’ve at all met. Fourteen or so years of distance will do that to a person. “Just… wow!” he exclaims, laughing and looking around like he expects hidden cameras to pop out. “…wow!!!”

He may have grown up big and firmer than a hardwood wardrobe, but he’s changed very little. It makes the smile on Connor’s lips widen into something _almost_ genuine. “Wow what?”

“Nothing just…” words seem to fail Markus at the moment, so he gesticulates widely for a couple of seconds, before giving up and deflating slightly, going from unbridled surprise to nostalgic fondness. “You look good.”

“Thank you. I’ve _been_ good.” Connor replies, having to bite slightly at his lower lip not to chuckle slightly.

“I thought you moved to Canada! When did you get back in town?”

Ah. Perfect time to try out his cover story. “Just a few days ago. The company I work for has a few administration problems, and I’m the guy who has to haul ass and crunch the numbers for their exec morons over here.”

“You always were the better one at math.” Markus might be the wrong target to test it on, sweet, naïve Markus; but the way he doesn’t doubt that even for a second, and goes straight to reminiscing, still says something.

“And still I copied most of your chemistry homework.”

God, this almost feels like _actually_ catching up with a friend. He’ll have to tread very carefully.

Though it might be a bit late for that, Markus has already fallen into step with him and slung his free arm over Connor’s shoulders.

“It is so good to see you!” the enthusiasm is definitely there. Connor lets his childhood friend lead him through the street in a way that definitely revives old memories of running around like the unruly rug rats they were, and Markus is still smiling so bright the sun might as well pack up and leave. “Let’s get breakfast together! My treat, since I bumped into you like an asshole!”

“If showering me with affection and offering free food is you being an asshole, feel free to be an asshole to me your entire life.” Connor doesn’t even have to fake his amusement.

The realization comes to him delayed –probably because he was busy assessing the situation like a killer, but… wow indeed.

Had he seriously nearly forgotten everything about Markus?

No, not really— Markus is just one of those people… hard to remember, impossible to forget.

Oh shit, he’s already _talking like him_ in his own mind. He shakes his head to himself while Markus is perfectly happy to talk enough for the both of them, asking questions that all start with _‘do you remember?’_ and giving the answers himself.

 

They end up in the small plaza’s café, sitting and laughing over toast and two cups of coffee big enough to be soup bowls. It almost feels surreal, to be sitting there ant talking to someone that knows him, really knows him as a person, and yet doesn’t know _anything_ about who and what he is, now.

Markus brings up school antics, games of play pretend, playing hide and seek in that ridiculously huge mansion of his father’s.

One particular detail comes to mind: “Does your father still have that stuffed giraffe?”

“Oh, God, _that_.” Clearly, what was a novelty and just something cool to look at as a child doesn’t fly as well now that Markus is an adult and knows what taxidermy is. “Yeah, we moved it into the living room, in front of the grand staircase. It’s not like anyone uses it much after the accident.”

“Accident?” Connor echoes dumbly, trying vehemently not to smack himself for his mouth losing all filter –such a rookie mistake. He needs to get it together.

“Yeah, he’s been on a chair for about eight years now.” Markus, for what it’s worth, seems pretty well-adjusted about it.

Still. The situation calls for sympathy. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

It even sounds sincere enough that the fondness in Markus’ eyes comes back warmer than before, and he reaches across the table to give Connor’s shoulder a heartfelt squeeze. “Thank you. It was a long time ago, but… yeah. Thank you.”

There’s the smallest hint of awkwardness in the following silence, which Connor spends taking a sip of his coffee to think about what to say next, as it can easily pass off as him not being quite sure of what to say after the supposedly sad news.

“Um, so… what else have you been up to?” Connor eyes the bag of art supplies sitting on the floor at Markus’ side, “Are you finally a famous painter?”

“I don’t know, are you a secret agent yet?”

Biting his tongue at the irony, Connor idly thinks that that must be a yes on the art front, then. He didn’t expect it to be so refreshing, to talk to someone who is neither afraid of him nor trying to boss him around. Markus jokes and teases and talks back, blissfully unaware of the 38 ways Connor could kill him right now, if sufficiently angered.

Of course, Markus is also unaware of exactly how much power his bright, mismatched puppy-dog eyes carry. Connor is fairly certain anyone would forgive pretty much anything, if Markus pouted at them just right.

They spend almost a full hour in the café, bringing up their old antics and overall just being idiots. Connor had almost forgotten what a normal life felt like… having acquaintances, making conversation about inane stuff, having friends and seeing them flustered when the bartender blatantly tries to flirt with them…

“I still say she was being pretty obvious, Markus.”

“She wasn’t! She was just… being extra nice to angle for a tip?”

Connor can be honest with himself, if no one else: he did miss the way Markus would rile up like that. Such an easy target.

“She wrote _her number_ on your arm.” He cannot hold in a chuckle as Markus shoves both hands over his own face, mortified, while they walk out together. “What’s the matter? You don’t like her?”

“Let’s just say I have a type and leave it at that.”

Interesting.

Either Markus is uncomfortable with being flirted at in public –which would be understandable– or he’s not into girls, which would explain such a high level of discomfort. His brain comes to a screeching halt immediately after he has that thought: _why_ did he just think it’s interesting? It’s not.

It’s completely inconsequential.

Well. He’s got to find _some_ thing to keep his brain occupied until they notify him on who the mission objective is.

“Okay, so… this is my stop.” Markus says once they reach the bus stop. Connor’s is the one across the road, but he can already see the bus Markus will likely board slowly pulling up.

“It was good to run into you, Markus.”

Again, the easygoing grin Connor didn’t even know he missed appears. “Likewise!” Markus assures, “You… you really look good. I’m happy to have met you today.”

“I’ll see you around, then.”

“I’ll hold you to that!”

Connor lets Markus board his bus with a salute and a wink. He tells himself he is simply curious about why the other would be taking the bus at all instead of being chauffeured around; he _doesn’t_ linger there just to appreciate exactly how well Markus has grown up and filled out.

His ass does look great in those jeans, though, Connor can admit that much.

 

“Schrodinger! I’m home!” his stripy yellow cat is just where Connor left him: tearing apart one of the empty cardboard boxes left from moving. The assassin chuckles at him, knowing that he’ll run into the kitchen as soon as the smell of an open can of cat food makes itself known.

Before today, Connor would have said his cat is his only friend. After his morning with Markus? He could be persuaded to be a tiny bit sentimental.

Predictably enough, Schrodinger comes and starts rubbing his head at Connor’s legs as soon as the man is opening the can; and Connor carefully lowers the food into the cat bowl and then steps back.

“You wouldn’t believe who I just ran into, today.” So he talks to his cat. An assassin’s life is lonely; he either talks to his pet or to things that aren’t actually there. He’d much rather do the former. “I thought nothing from that life had been salvaged. Call me sentimental, but it almost feels like—”

The sound of something slipping just under his door would have gone unnoticed to anyone else, but Connor was expecting it, and he hears it well enough to cut himself off.

“—like… destiny…”

He opens the envelope, looks at the photo and reads the contents.

Then he blinks and reads them again.

They remain unchanged.

“But…” for the first time in his entire hitman career, Connor asks himself the question he has never asked his superiors, not once. “…why???”

Why would anyone want to kill Markus?


	2. Levels of weird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The more he thinks about it, the less it makes sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOOP DE DOO, CHAPTER TWO.
> 
> I am having a LOT of fun with this one, I must admit. ♥  
> Hopefully y'all will like reading it as much as I'm liking writing it. ♥
> 
> I don't know what else to say.  
> Pls love me.

The more he stares at the note, the less it makes sense.

 

_»_ _Markus Manfred_

_»_ _Age 29_

_»_ _6’2’’_

_»_ _Distinguishing features: differently colored eyes_

 

Then there’s a brief outline of what Markus has been seen doing with his day, which is mostly painting or occasionally teaching art to kids… on Sundays he apparently goes to an archery range –the identifying picture they attached to the file seems proof enough, even though the printed image of Markus holding a compound bow at full draw strikes Connor as quite odd.

Markus abhorred violence when they were kids.

Then again, shooting at targets doesn’t necessarily mean he’d enjoy planting an arrow into a living thing.

Connor’s eyes linger on the picture –someone enjoyed taking this: by the looks of it, they waited until Markus was sweating from the workout and removed his hoodie to tie it around his waist.

It suddenly clicks into his head. Markus didn’t suddenly pick up a taste for pointy sharp objects; he started doing archery, likely in his teens, to get bigger! Nothing puts some mass on scrawny shoulders like some good, old fashioned archery. It startles a laugh out of Connor.

Clearly, come the onslaught of puberty Markus must have gotten tired of being the skinny twig all the time, and put some serious thought into working out to a veritable ‘tall, dark and handsome’ standard.

Still… none of that warrants a hit being out for him.

For all intents and purposes, Markus is just a painter with a few quirky habits, not a criminal or someone who could be a threat for someone else. He has no children, so there would be no beneficiary to inherit his assets on the event of his death, the whole thing just doesn’t make sense!

 _Hypocrite_ , his mind chastises him.

It has never made a difference before.

He’s killed gang bosses, political exponents and wealthy characters alike, simply because they were a thorn in someone’s side and that someone was paying well for having it removed; Connor never needed to know why –though he usually was able to piece it together during or after the fact.

The listed price for Markus’ head is… not quite retirement money, but it’s a lot. And he has clearance for high casualty numbers. Which also strikes Connor as odd: last time he had a job like this, it was to take down a ringleader of red ice trafficking who was selling low quality product that killed customers way too fast and got the police on the other traffickers’ asses, on top of giving them all a bad rep.

He had clearance to destroy the whole operation, and he even served what was left of that particular gang on a silver platter for DPD’s finest.

All this money and force, to take down a wannabe Monet who hangs around with special education kids and plays William Tell on Sundays seems… very out of place.

He shoves the folder face-down on the table and sits back with closed eyes.

Flashbacks of goofing around with Markus on their bicycles or playing hide and seek by the docks flood his mind.

“This is ridiculous…” then, Markus’ current face goes through his mind, all smiles and amazement that his old best friend his back. “…Fuck it.”

If he absolutely _has_ to murder the one person he ever felt affection for in his life, he’s gonna find out _why_ , first. The client has, after all, given no specific timeframe for the mission and he has a 9 months tenancy in this building.

Markus, absolute dork that he is, forgot to give Connor his number even though he talked big about seeing each other again— no big deal, Connor will just ‘happen’ to pass by the gallery that hosts Markus’ work and see if he can catch him, or maybe take a walk in the park where Markus goes to paint in the afternoons.

 

It’s ridiculously easy to track him down, and again Connor wonders what the deal with sending out a professional assassin is –a drunk teenager could accidentally kill Markus by tripping over him and bashing him on the head with a broken bottle. The whole contract and the specifics of it are so dissonant with what’s in front of him that Connor starts thinking one of the two _has_ to be fake.

Markus looks lost in his own little world, brushing away at his canvas while mouthing along to whatever music is playing in his earbuds, paint staining both his hands, little colorful droplets dotting his t-shirt too, and a bright green handprint on his jeans where he must have rested a hand on his knee at one point.

“Hey there, stranger.” Connor greets, walking up at his side and waving a hand to make himself known.

To his credit, Markus doesn’t jump, though his eyebrows do go up in surprise and he smiles as he takes off the earbuds to let them dangle from his neck.

“Hey yourself!” he responds, bright and kind as Connors remembers him, “What brings you to my neck of the woods?”

The assassin is momentarily distracted trying to place the muffled heavy metal song that can be heard still going from the discarded earbuds, until Markus fishes the device from his pocket and stops it.

He clears his voice. “I was just fixing up a few things in my apartment, but today was too nice to spend it cooped up inside.”

“Man after my own heart.” Markus jokes, and once more Connor wonders who would want this guy dead and why –he wouldn’t go out of his way to call the painter gullible, but Markus does take a lot of things at face value unless there’s reason to question them. Connor really can’t imagine tis dork being a problem for anyone. “Want to keep me company for a bit? Fair warning, though, watching people paint can get boring.”

Remembering their days of drawing life-size board games and treasure hunts with colored chalk on the asphalt, Connor shakes his head and lets himself smile. “Nothing is ever boring with you.”

Damn it, is this what actual nostalgia feels like?

Markus lowers his eyes for a second, glancing down at the bag of supplies at his feet before returning his gaze to Connor.

“If you’re sure.” He concedes with a half-shrug and settles back on his foldable stool, while Connor sits cross-legged on the grass beside him.

Once he starts looking at what Markus is painting, he has to blink several times to understand what the hell that is. The background of the painting is a mixture of colors that _might_ be associated to grass and sky, but from it streaks of orange, brown, red and gold swirl and converge together in something that definitely isn’t just a random landscape of a park with people walking their dogs and kids playing.

It looks more like some sort of winged figure raining down from the sunset sky.

“What are you painting, exactly?”

Markus doesn’t take his eyes off his canvas, but leans his body slightly to the side towards Connor to speak to him –some things never change.

“You see how the sun is shining through the clouds down in this direction, washing everything and everyone in fiery colors?” He asks, making a sweeping diagonal motion from the sky to the ground with his free hand, “It kind of looks like what the sky would be if a Valkyrie was descending upon us in a blaze of glory.”

If anyone had asked Connor, he just would have said that sure, the sunset has pretty colors and people and things are bathed in a nice light. But that’s the Markus he remembers: where everyone else just sees the obvious and mundane, he sees the extraordinary and bizarre; and simple, warm rays of sunshine turn to Valkyries into his eyes.

“Ah… I see you haven’t changed.” He comments with a chuckle.

Markus mirrors it, while mixing some more white and yellow together. “Guilty as charged!”

Funny he should use those words. Right now, Connor thinks there couldn’t possibly be anyone more innocent than the man right before him.

 _‘How do you have a multi-million dollar hit on you?’_ his mind is itching to ask, but that would only plunge the poor guy in a panic –if he even believed Connor saying such a crazy thing– and it would solve absolutely nothing.

He needs to bide his time. Who knows, maybe the nice painter persona is fake and Markus is secretly a terrible person and his ‘special ed’ class is actually a front for organ trafficking.

Wow, that went very dark, very fast –not surprising, considering what kind of people Connor usually deals with.

They spend some more time in companionable silence, while Connor observes Markus carefully for any hint of deception or suspicion… for all intents and purposes, the man is completely absorbed in his painting, enough not to notice that he just streaked some color over his cheek when he scratched his temple at some point, blissfully unaware of the people around them…

Incidentally, that line of thought brings Connor to look around for them both, out of habit— it’s always good to make sure no one is tailing him, ever, but the man and woman holding hands on a bench to their far right suddenly stand out to the assassin.

They’ve been looking in Markus’ direction for a few minutes now, but averted their gaze as soon as Connor made eye-contact.

Does Markus have shadows? Are they there to kill him too or to protect him? Does Markus know he’s being watched?

“It feels strange, doesn’t it?” Markus asks out of the blue, snapping Connor’s attention back to him.

The assassin eyes him cautiously. “What does?”

“Being watched like that.” Four words are enough to send Connor’s mind through all kinds of scenarios and make him regret he didn’t bring his sidearm with him because he thought this would just be recon, but then Markus continues: “People are always curious and try to look at what you’re painting, but very few of them muster up the guts to come ask to watch.”

Ooooh. Right. Markus is sitting in front of a 48’’ by 36’’ canvas, painted in a boundless explosion of colors.

Goddamn, now he feels like an idiot.

It’s admirable how Markus completely disregards the eyes on him, even as he starts putting his art supplies back in the backpack at his feet. He drags a hand over his forehead, giving himself another paint streak, greenish-yellow this time.

“You seem very nonplussed about having an audience.”

Again, the painter just shrugs it off, standing up and folding the stool to carry under his arm while the backpack gets slung around his other shoulder.

“I’ve had time to get used to it.” He simply says, watching Connor stand up as well, “Do you have anywhere to be?”

God, this is almost too easy. Connor shakes his head no, glad that he doesn’t even have to try to follow Markus around, he’s _invited_.

His childhood friend then nods towards the street. “How about we go get something to eat?” he proposes, “We can hit some of our old prowling grounds.”

As they move out, Connor notices Markus isn’t taking his canvas. “Are you just going to leave the easel here?”

“It needs to dry. I come here all the time and the custodian knows me, it’s alright.” The other explains as they simply walk off. Which is fair enough, if he really is friends with the park grounds’ custodian it’s actually a pretty smart thing to do.

 

They end up in a pub with beat up pinball machines that they always used to play with as kids.

“You know… you still hold the highest score on the far one.” Markus mentions as they eat, when he sees Connor looking them over.

It surprises Connor, but it also makes him feel… happy. “Really? You haven’t beaten it in all these years?”

“I have to admit I haven’t tried in a while. Didn’t feel right to.” Oh Markus, you sentimental doofus. It’s almost enough to make Connor feel bad for lying to him about his whole life, basically. “Plus, ‘m not really that much into pinball anymore.”

“Really? And what is Markus Manfred ‘into’, these days?” it’s a perfect opening to ask, and it’s much better for Connor to let him say it, so he doesn’t slip and appear to know things he shouldn’t.

“You’re gonna laugh.”

“Hey now.” Connor protests leaning this and that way to keep holding Markus’ gaze when the other tries to avert it. “Tell me, I wanna know.”

Eventually, Markus sighs and looks back at him. “Fine. Archery.” Connor doesn’t quite hold back a low chuckle, and Markus points at him accusingly: “See? I knew you were gonna laugh!”

“I’m not laughing at you I promise, it’s just…” Shaking his head, Connor gives Markus a good once-over, making sure to linger slightly longer than he normally would, “It explains a lot.”

He’s no stranger to seduction tactics, and if he can discover whether or not Markus could become attracted to him, it would make his job infinitely easier once the time to pull the trigger comes. Of course, it could also become infinitely harder, if he lets their past influence his judgment once they get ‘closer’.

Well. He always was a fan of doing things on a razor’s edge.

For what it’s worth, Markus does seem to become suddenly self-conscious, if not outright shy, as he tries to chuckle the uneasiness away.

“Yeah, I’ve uh… finally hit that growth spurt, I guess.”

And now for a step back. Connor laughs heartily and pats him humorously on one shoulder.

“To say the least!” he says cheerfully, “Archery though… never thought you’d be the type! That wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that you’d never, ever beat me at pinball, would it?”

It works. Markus is laughing along before he even finishes the phrase. “Fighting words! Is that a challenge?”

“You heard me.”

They make their way to the infamous pinball machine laughing together like it hasn’t been a single day.

 

“…I still think you cheat.”

Markus didn’t even stand a chance. Connor hasn’t beaten his personal best, but his dear friend hasn’t even come close. He can’t help it, he’s actually having fun.

“Markus, how does one even cheat with a pinball machine?”

“I don’t know! It’s just unfair that you’re so good at everything!”

Connor looks at Markus as if he just sprouted two heads. “That’s one hell of a compliment from the guy who was painting a goddamn Valkyrie earlier this afternoon.”

Again, Markus’ head ducks downwards and he makes a sound like a mumble that cut itself off halfway through. He’s very reluctant to accept praise, apparently.

Either that, or he is shy to a level that is unfathomable for a man his age.

“You know…” Connor continues, hitting the proverbial iron while it’s hot, “I had almost forgotten, but… I missed this.”

Markus nods to that, and puts a hand to Connor’s back to lead him back to their table. “Me too. I’ve missed you.

“Me?” Connor has to blink at the specificity of it.

“Yes, Connor, how many best friends do you think I have?” the other asks as if saying that the sky is blue, “You were the first kid not to be either scared of me or an asshole. The first one to think this was cool.”

The quick tap at his right temple brings things into perspective for Connor.

Right. Back when they were kids things were different and in some places a kid with differently colored eyes could still get called a ‘demon child’ from time to time.

“For what it’s worth, I still think it’s cool.” He says, ignoring his brain telling him that it’s the first 100% true thing he tells Markus ever since meeting him again. “You must be quite popular with the ladies now.”

Markus shakes his head ‘no’. “Like I told you… I’ve got a type.”

“Which is?” Connor wouldn’t normally ask, but the other’s choice of words tells him that Markus is practically begging to get this off his chest.

“…not ladies.”

Quod erat demostrandum. Connor blinks, tilts his head slightly to the side and smiles at his friend. “Oh! Popular with the guys, then?”

The seamless correction speaks volumes of how little Connor cares about such a detail, and Markus relaxes visibly at the open acceptance. “Not as much as you’d think. I spend a lot of time working, and when I’m not painting I’m at the archery range.”

“You know, I’d love to see that.” Connor says, halfway between sincere and teasing.

Markus doesn’t bristle at the jab; on the contrary he arches a brow at the other. “I can teach you, if you want.”

“I bet I can smoke you out after one lesson.” Connor knows he probably won’t, realistically speaking –he has excellent aim as an assassin, but he’s never wielded a bow while Markus has been handling them for at least fourteen years– but their whole friendly rivalry thing means he _has_ to make the taunt.

Markus’ grin grows wider upon hearing it.

“I promise not to make you lose face too badly, then.” He assures, taking out his phone and handing it to Connor. “If you give me your number, I’ll text you when and where.”

It’s almost too easy.

If Connor really wanted to kill Markus, he could have done so about a dozen times already. And now Markus is even giving him his phone number, which is basically free reign to be tracked wherever he goes.

Then again, Connor is thinking like an assassin. Markus is, at least as far as he can tell right now, just a regular guy.

Technically.

Nothing about Markus has ever been ‘regular’, coming to think of it, from his peculiar eye-color to his talent for art. Connor finds himself looking forward to some more time together.

 

Sunday takes entirely too long to come.

Connor follows Markus’ direction to the range, and is let in by a friendly looking lady with blue hair. When he mentions he’s never been here before but a friend is waiting for him, she lights up:

“Oh, are you Markus’ friend? Come on over, he said you’d be here!” She says cheerfully, waving someone over in the lanes of the indoor facility. “Markus!!! Your friend is here!”

Well.

That’s a different look.

For starters, the [bow](https://archerybum.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/02/archerybum-archery-clothing-prostaff-banner-emily-mccarthy-emily-veyna-archer.jpg) Markus is wielding looks surprisingly less like a random curvy twig and more like one of his precision rifles, the ones made up of several separate pieces and that are a bitch to assemble.

Second, Markus had been wearing casual clothes during their previous meetings, disappearing into hoodies or sweaters and comfy paint-friendly clothes… now, the elastic thermal shirt he’s wearing to keep his draw unrestrained is doing nothing to hide exactly how much of a far cry Markus is from being ‘that skinny little child’ –if Connor didn’t know better, he’d think Markus could actually take him in a fight.

The [archery glove](https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/6102J%2BxNd4L._SX679_.jpg) on his hand is especially fascinating, for some reason.

Connor hopes he’ll get one too— hands are very important in his line of work, he can’t think of anything worse than losing his trigger finger.

“Connor, hey!!!” Predictably, Markus stops what he’s doing, lowers his bow and turns to wave at him the moment he’s ushered along. “Come, you’re going to be side by side with me so I can keep an eye on you.”

“I’m ready and eager to learn.” He internally bites his tongue to refrain from mentioning that it’s very much the other way around.

Markus eyes him warily, almost as if gauging how much of that is true and how much it’s just Connor sassing him. “Right… okay, first off: nomenclature…”

He proceeds to rattle off all the parts and terminology that they’ll be using –it’s a slight drag considering Connor knows some of it, but he can appreciate Markus being so thorough.

Then, he hands Connor a similar glove to his own.

“Your non-dominant hand will hold the bow, the dominant one will draw the string; so put the glove on your dominant hand.”

That could be a problem. Connor bites his lower lip slightly. “I’m ambidextrous.”

If nothing else, it prompts an amused laugh out of Markus. “Of course you would be… well then. Put the glove on your right hand so we’ll match.”

Connor obliges, and Markus hands him the bow, but no arrows yet.

“Now we’ll go over positions and movement, ok?”

It’s out of his mouth before he can hold back: “Not gonna lie, that sounded very sexual.”

“Shut up.”

Interesting –Markus is much less shy when he’s in his element, just laughing and chastising him for making stupid jokes. He explains how to place his feet and which way to face, he shows the movement himself a couple of times before handing Connor the empty bow and inviting him to try.

“Don’t be surprised if you can’t get it to full draw on the first time.” He offers with an encouraging smile, “It’s not a strength thing, it’s about knowing how to properly move your arms.”

Of all the things Markus could have said, that serves to make Connor absolutely determined to achieve full draw on the first try.

It’s got definitely more resistance than Connor was expecting, just watching Markus, but he pulls it off decently enough to earn an impressed look.

“Alright, so you’ve been keeping yourself fit. Good.” Markus comments, looking Connor over and making minute adjustments to his posture, before nodding to him to gently comoe out of the draw.

Remembering his cover, Connor nods. “When you spend your work day solving problems created by other people’s stupidity, you need to hit the gym as violently as you can just so you can avoid punching someone the next day.”

“Fair enough.” Markus concedes, “Let’s do this a few more times and then we’ll give you something to shoot at.”

It becomes increasingly obvious to Connor that Markus is not only used to teaching, but also to be around kids with special needs –he’s constantly very conscious of safety and has a discreet eye on everything around him. He’d wager Markus’ art class is between 12 and 14 children.

Eventually, Markus gives him a belt with a quiver attached to it to rest against his hip and gives him directions to shoot while they wai for their cue.

His first arrow is… well, it does hit the target, if only at the very edge.

Markus sounds equal parts amused and impressed. “That’s good! That’s actually extremely good for your first try.”

“You’re laughing at me.” He protests.

“I’m not laughing at you.” Markus objects gently, coming up close to him again and adjusting his posture some more, “I’m laughing at the fact that you look so disappointed with yourself: always setting yourself up to absurd standards?”

This guy knows _nothing_ about his life, and yet… he knows _him_ better than anyone Connor’s ever worked with or for, better than anyone in the world, probably. It’s a nice feeling— though that might be because of the comforting body heat emanating from Markus at their closeness.

Connor’s head clears as his friend steps back.

“Try again.”

His eyes narrow. “Before the end of the day, I will hit at least _one_ bullseye.”

Markus smiles fondly at him. “I don’t doubt that.”

It takes him nine tries to actually get close to it, and his tenth arrow is less than half a centimeter from the exact center.

“Well, that definitely counts.” Markus comments at his side. “We’re not in the Olympics.”

If asked, Connor will forever deny to be preening under the praise, but he is. “Good. How about a little 1 vs 1, then?”

Again, Markus’ brow arches at him as the other gives him a challenging look. “You’re serious.”

“Of course I am. I never joke.”

“Okay, then… winner gets..?”

Connor shrugs. “Bragging rights?”

It used to be a thing between them. Markus never liked making bets with actual things, so whenever they competed for something the winner would get the right to be so damn proud of themselves until the next challenge. It was childish, but it made for a lot of treasured memories.

If the megawatt smile on Markus’ face is anything to go by, he remembers too. “Bragging rights it is.”

He goes to gather the arrows they’ve shot so far and clear their targets along with everyone else and back, by which time a couple of people have stopped what they were doing to watch them.

Connor hears someone ask “Is someone actually going against Markus? Jeez…” which doesn’t do a lot for his confidence, but he’ll be damned if he steps back from a challenge.

The end result is very predictable, but he takes comfort in knowing he didn’t lose _as_ spectacularly as he would have if he truly didn’t have any familiarity with any kind of weaponry.

The small audience that gathered around them actually claps and cheers once they’re all out of arrows.

“Well done!” Markus exclaims, offering his hand to shake, “Considering it’s your first time, I’m absolutely floored. Give it six weeks and you’ll give me a run for my money!”

“Wait, did you say _first time_?!” one of the girls watching them asks.

“Bullshit.” Says a guy to their left.

“It’s true, I was here and Markus was just teaching him!”

“Damn, let’s go practice…” comes another as the onlookers disperse.

Connor would be a liar if he said that didn’t make him feel good. It also gives him room to ask: “So you’re some sort of archery legend around here?”

“What? No… no, these guys are just friends of mine…” Markus shakes his head as he starts taking off his equipment, “I’ve just been doing this a long time, and have good aim, that’s it.”

“Ever so humble.” Connor counters, bumping shoulders with him, “You just won bragging rights, remember?”

They’re still laughing together as they start to leave the lanes for other people who want to use them. It’s sheer chance that makes Connor look back at the people in the range and see one lone figure who hadn’t been speaking to them at all, or anyone else for that matter.

The aim of their next shot is also wildly off, even to his amateur eyes, the arrow will ricochet off a steel beam in the corner and…

…he has less than three seconds before Markus gets impaled between the eyes.

Luckily, he’s no stranger to thinking fast, so he just pretends to trip and takes Markus down with him, letting the ‘stray’ arrow fly past their heads as they land in a tangle of limbs on the ground.

Someone screams and people gather around them once more while they’re still on the floor.

“Oh my God, guys, are you alright?!”

“What the hell just happened?!”

“Who shot that?!”

They’re obviously bombarded with question, while the archery owner threads through the small crowd yelling: “What _the hell_ was that?! How many times do I have to remind everyone about _safety_ , around here?!”

A chorus of apologies rings around, while Markus is still recovering from trying to understand what’s going on; and Connor is still getting off of him.

“I’m so sorry; I must have lost my footing.” Connor offers meekly, while the range owner, a girl with strawberry blonde hair in a ponytail, is still fussing over the two of them and asking if they’re alright.

Markus is clearly struggling to process the whole thing. “It’s ok… apparently; I would have been skewered if you hadn’t.”

“Yeah…” the range owner comments, “That’s some crazy luck you have there, Markus.”

“Don’t worry about me, North. Is anyone else hurt?” he asks instead, which prompts the lady –North, he now knows– to scoff at him.

“No, Markus, you’re the only one who nearly got turned into a shish kebab!” she rebukes, disapproval clear in her tone at his lack of self-preservation.

Connor is inclined to agree.

“Then it’s a good thing Connor was here.” It’s all he has to tell her, motioning to his side.

She looks over at Connor, giving him possibly the most suspicious look he ever received from someone who does _not_ know he’s an assassin for hire, before turning it into unconvinced acceptance.

“Hm. I’m North. Nice to meet someone else looking out for Markus’ sorry ass.”

Connor shakes the offered hand. “Connor.” He confirms, doing a good job of looking the confused part, “Technically I just tripped over him, but… sure?”

They get held up for nearly twenty minutes: North tries to find out who shot the arrows that nearly killed Markus, but Connor knows that the culprit most likely slipped away unnoticed while everyone was still screaming about the very near tragedy. Markus insists that he doesn’t want to press charges for the accident, and North lets them go with a promise that she’ll check the cctv footage and let them know if she finds anything.

Markus offered him to take a walk together to shake off the scare, and Connor accepts, even though it’s not fear his mind is still reeling with.

Such a blatant attempt on his life, in the middle of the day no less.

The precise aim and the effortless escape speak of a professional, but the circumstances and the ease with which Connor spotted them are a tell-tale sign of them being not the best around. Still, it gives yet another layer of weird to the already unlikely mission he’s been given: _multiple_ different organizations are after Markus’ head, for some reason.

And all the while, Markus seems none the wiser to it all.

This complicates things further: if Markus dies of unrelated circumstances or someone else claims the kill, Connor loses his contract and his money.

So if he wants to find out _why_ is there such a high price on his childhood best friend’s head and bide his time with his assignment, he also needs to protect Markus from the _other_ assassins who would try and make the kill.

Well, so much for a clean, straightforward job.

 


	3. Hunters and Prince-Charmings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor will still complete his mission.
> 
> He will.
> 
> He just wants to make sure he absolutely has to, before he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, my fingers slipped and I updated this twice in a row! ♥
> 
> I'm just having so much fun with it!!!
> 
> I hope you guys are having as much fun reading it. ♥

Markus is tired enough to feel ready to drop when he gets home. He barely even closes the door behind himself as he just kicks off his shoes and starts shedding clothes before even reaching his bedroom.

“Markus.”

He nearly jumps out of his own skin, too, at that. “Jeez, Simon, we’ve talked about this!” he exclaims while regaining his breath, “Front door, doorbells? Calls or texts to at least let me know you’re gonna be waiting inside?”

“You gave me a spare key, remember?” The blond just has a small twitch at the lips, as if trying very hard not to laugh. “Your father was worried about you and asked me to check on you.”

“Of course he did.” Markus closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. Something as outlandish as a near-death archery freak accident would make the rounds in town pretty fast. “Well. I’m fine –and so is the poor guy who nearly got shot in my place since he was walking with me, by the way.”

“The childhood friend you’ve been trying so hard to catch up with?”

And of course he’d know that too. Simon is a good friend, a great one even, but he is a nosy one. Not that Markus can entirely blame him for that. “Look at you, up to speed with all the gossip. I’m proud.”

“So… this friend of yours—”

That’s when Markus loses the smile. “No. You’re not going to ruin this for me by being all suspicious and acting like a worrywart.” He reaches a hand out to splay it against Simon’s chest in warning, “If you want to know more about Connor, you’ll walk right up to us the next time we’re hanging out and introduce yourself, like _normal_ people do. Alright?”

Simon holds his gaze for a few seconds, before eventually deflating with a sigh and a nod.

“Alright.”

“Thanks, Simon.” Markus steps to the side to let the other walk out, “Now if you don’t mind, I really need a shower and I’m already halfway to naked so, unless you want to stay for a show…”

The blond raises his hands in reassurance and walks out after a laugh and a quick goodbye.

And of course, he barely has time to towel off and get into some sweatpants before his phone rings.

“Hello, dad.”

_«_ _I’d tell you ‘I told you so’ about archery being dangerous, but I have the sneaking suspicion you’d tell me to fuck off._ _»_

Connor stops cleaning his gun and goes to raise the volume to his recording device.

_«_ _Hey, now… I wouldn’t use that language with you._ _»_

_«_ _I’m sure the sentiment would be there. Are you ok?_ _»_

_«_ _I am, dad, it was just a scare. Promise._ _»_

_«_ _Why don’t you stop by for lunch tomorrow?_ _»_

Markus sounds hesitant about his next words.

_«_ _That depends, are you or Leo going to be doing any work, or talking about work?_ _»_

_«_ _No. Nothing that we can’t cancel or delegate. It will be just family time, I promise._ _»_

There’s a long, almost suffered sigh from Markus’ end of the line.

_«_ _Ok then. I’ll come see you after my art class._ _»_

 

Connor is at a loss. He’s researched Markus’ name in all the channels he could find, he’s clean as a whistle.  He’s also done a superficial check on the people around him, and nothing has come up— other than the childhood accident that gave Markus his peculiar eye discoloration and the vehicular disaster that robbed Carl Manfred of his mobility from the waist down, there isn’t much in news archives or official records, aside from the fact that the name Manfred is behind the fanciest art gallery in Detroit and a few other art-related businesses.

It strikes Connor as strange that Markus prefers to be an independent painter and art teacher, rather than have a cushy gallery director job thanks to his rich father, but then again, easy escapes were never his style.

He doesn’t focus too much on that either way, putting all his energy in running Markus’ name through all the sieves his very extensive network provides him with, but he’s hit a wall.

Markus never got so much as a speeding ticket. He used to get into a little bit of trouble in his late teens because of his penchant for street art, but it never crossed the line into vandalism, so he’s never even spent a night in a holding cell.

And yet, here Connor is, being paid to track him down and kill him, along with at least one other professional at his heels— the odds of that so called freak accident at the archery range being just that are so low it's laughable.

He needs to dig deeper -for all he knows, Markus could be the secret leader of an underground fighting ring, or something.

"Well, this calls for more play dates." He mutters to himself, tuning out the device and dropping down for his daily 120.

Finding a way to check out the school he works at might be useful –though it would be really messed up for someone to be using a school as a front for illicit activities. The archery range itself is far more likely, and North looked every bit like she could and would fight him on any given day.

...No use obsessing about it right now, though, so Connor clears his mind, bends his arms and starts counting.

120 push ups and a shower later, Connor goes to sleep, planning to get at least 5 hours in before waking up bright and early to snoop some more into Markus' life.

 

He spends the following three days at home, mostly talking to himself or to his cat, keeping close tabs on all of Markus' phone conversations.

Lunch with his family was apparently 'the same as always', said with equal amounts of fondness and distaste, much to Connor's amusement; a lot of people from the school he teaches at look for his help with several things, Markus goes out of his way to please everybody and the park custodian assures him that his painting is safe and he can pick it up at his little cabin whenever he wants to.

Archery aside, Markus keeps being just about as normal as they come.

On the third day, though, Connor receives a text.

It's a picture taken by someone else, Markus is on the floor laughing while several children appear to be painting him -or, at the very least, leaving colorful handprints all over his face and clothes- with a caption:

_»_ _So I was subjected to a mutiny this morning. How has your day been so far?_

That looks like it will take a while to wash off. A traitorous smile pulls at Connor's lips.

_»_ _I've been staring at a screen for hours. Not sure which one of us is worse off._

Connor actually rolls his eyes with a grin when the response he receives is so undeniably typical of Markus it brings him back 15 years:

_»_ _Well, I get roughed up by ten year olds and covered in paint, but you’re a corporate drone. My sympathies go out to you._

Oh, Markus. Ever the idealistic, naïve little boy. The assassin tries not to think about the cold, hard truth behind that statement; and it gets a little funnier when another text chimes in, faster than Connor can type:

_»_ _I meant no offense though. Promise._

What an incurable goody two shoes. Connor spends more time texting back and forth with him, only taking his eyes off the phone when Schrodinger comes into the room meowing for dinner. Getting a stupid idea, Connor is careful not to capture any sort of recognizable object in the frame but does snap a picture of Schrodinger eagerly digging into his food bowl.

_»_ _Look at this fat ass. He only ever comes to me when he wants food._

The photo immediately sparks the obligatory mini freak-out over how cute the stripy yellow cat is, and Markus tells him of at least three songs he’s reminded of, because why wouldn’t the already multi-talented painter also have an ear for music?

In a moment of silliness, Connor thinks that someone might have it out for Markus for being too ‘perfect’, Snow-White style.

Does that make him the Hunter or the Prince, now that he’s actively keeping Markus alive?

He shouldn’t waste time on such baseless considerations— he’s only protecting Markus from rival hitmen because Markus is _his_ kill and nobody else’s.

Not only because of the very lucrative contract that depends on it, but also because even though he _is_ an assassin and a horrible person by definition, Connor still has some semblance of a honor code: if his first and only friend absolutely has to die, it will be him and only him to pull the trigger.

He owes Markus that much.

They make plans to hang out some more by the docks where they used to play just after Markus’ next class, and Connor still hasn’t found one hair out of place in Markus’ employment contract with the school, nor in his subscription at the archery range, nothing.

It’s driving Connor _insane_. He might have to enlist the help of an informer –people around here don’t know him, and there is a slight probability that if something illicit _is_ going on, they wouldn’t tell an ‘outsider’, even if he used to live here as a kid.

Thing is, most of the informers he knows are from his agency… and that would be suicide; it would be like waving a giant red flag in Amanda’s face with big bold letters saying **_I’m reconsidering my loyalties_**.

Which isn’t true. He will still complete his mission.

He will.

He just wants to make sure he absolutely has to, before he does.

 

“You look like you’ve been having a fun time.” Markus eyes him up and down without even bothering to hide a smirk at Connor’s slightly disheveled state –rich, coming from him, considering he’s still wearing the paint-splattered t-shirt he had on for the art lesson and his jeans also have tiny paint dots here and there, with his dark canvas jacket as the only survivor.

What Markus does not know is that Connor has been at their meeting point longer than him, and has neutralized two guys hiding in an alleyway and wielding knives. He adjusts his tie and pats down his blazer slightly –he went for semi casual today, suited from the waist up but with jeans and comfortable shoes under it. “Yeah, sorry I’m a bit late; I missed my bus and had the genius idea of running here.”

“You poor soul.” Markus pats him amicably on the back as they fall into step together.

Connor nods absently at the other, surveying the area for a moment in case there’s something that looks out of place –he would have loved to stay behind and interrogate those fuckers, but he was already running late and doing that meant risking Markus discovering him while he was at it, so he just knocked the attackers out cold and threw out their weapons after a thorough search. In the meantime, he carries on with the conversation:

“Right? I’m thinking of renting a way to get around, maybe a bike.” He throws the notion in as casually as he can, since his motorcycle will be ready tomorrow, the day after at the latest.

But Markus’ interest goes into a different direction entirely: “Nice! We can live out our childhood biker gang dreams!”

They walk and talk as they stroll along the docks, Connor letting Markus mostly dominate the conversation but still participating enough not to cause suspicion –instead of blatantly lying to his best friend, Connor simply opts to leave things out by omission.

He tells himself it’s because even though Markus has no reason to suspect foul play on his part he still knows Connor ever since he was a kid and some of his tells may have persisted through time. It’s definitely not because he dislikes the idea of lying to Markus.

“Oh God…” the sudden, mildly frustrated exclamation catches Connor’s attention.

He follows Markus’ line of sight and catches a blond man walking towards them hand in hand with another guy who is already waving at Markus. “What?”

“I’m afraid our secret route hasn’t been so secret the past few years…” Markus confesses, nodding at the two once they’re close enough, “Hey guys. This is Connor.”

Blondie gives him a gentle smile and introduces himself first. “Hey. I’m Simon, this is my boyfriend Josh.”

Connor just returns the greeting with a likewise generic pleasantry and turns to shake Josh’s hand as well –god _damn_ he is tall– when he sees Markus’ eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“So you’re finally introducing yourselves as boyfriends, huh?”

Josh laughs sheepishly at that. “Well, everyone has been telling us we act like an old married couple for years, might as well make it official.”

“I met these two when I was in high school.” Markus tells Connor, “Simon works security at my father’s gallery, Josh is a fitness instructor.”

Looking at the two, Connor would have said the opposite –Simon is not a small man by any means, but he looks very… meek. Then again, he knows better than to fall for the old books and covers adage: many people don’t think _he_ would hold his own in a fight.

“Well, it’s nice to meet more of Markus’ friends so they can tell me what I missed all these years.” He offers with a courteous smile, turning mischievous at the last moment. “Any embarrassing stories I should know about?”

“Oh there’s plenty of embarrassing stories, but you should know about _none_ of them—”

Markus cannot object fast enough, as Simon already brought himself to Connor’s left and hooked arms with him in a complicit way; he immediately proceeds to go off into teenage tales and how fun they were to watch with the eyes of someone just a couple of years older.

Josh stays by Markus’ side with a sort of resigned sigh, and they share a look before following the other two.

“You know he was just worried, right?”

Mismatched eyes stay downcast as Markus huffs slightly. “Simon or my father?”

The taller man gives him an empathetic pat on the back. “Both.” He concedes, “But Simon really got scared about the freaky arrow thing. He wanted to check on you himself.”

“I appreciate it… really, I do, but…”

At that point Josh reaches a hand under Markus’ chin to look at him in the eye. “Hey. He can work for your father and _still_ be your friend. As am I.”

He holds Josh’s gaze for a couple seconds, before gently shrugging out of the hold and nodding. “I know. I know, and it’s childish. Thanks, Josh.”

“No problem.”

Their exchange took just enough time for them to catch up to Connor and Simon.

“Did you really go to school in a mini-skirt once?”

Markus shoots an utterly betrayed look at Simon. “Oh I hate you.”

“Come on, it’s a cute story!”

Connor is doubly curious now: “Really?”

Simon nods, while Markus covers his face. “Basically, one of his classmates was called into the principal’s office because her clothing choices were supposedly distracting the boys. But _this_ boy—” he reaches a hand out to pat Markus’ head proudly, “—thought it was complete bullshit, so he singlehandedly convinced all the guys in his class to have a peaceful disobedience day. They all asked the girls to lend some of their clothes and, the day after, he and all of the boys in his class came to school wearing mini-skirts. A few people from other classes liked the idea too and joined in the protest.”

Josh laughs along in reminiscence. “Of course, Markus underestimated his own looks and nearly proved the principal right when a lot of guys started doing double-takes at his ass, but at the end of the day, it was the most peaceful riot ever carried out in a school. I think it even made the news.”

“Shut up.” Markus protests but there is a hint of amusement in his voice and, dare Connor say it, pride even.

Knowing the other all too well, Simon does not shut up at all. “After that, no girls were ever told their everyday clothing was a problem anymore, and, after being in their shoes for a bit, many of the boys even cut back on the catcalling and generic toxic masculinity bullshit.”

Deep brown meets green and blue, and Connor knows he’s smiling so hard his cheeks hurt. “Truly, a hero of the people.”

They all walk together, talking and laughing at each other’s expense until they reach the old shipyard.

Connor’s eyes roam over the place and drink in a very familiar sight.

“I don’t believe it, how is it still here?”

Fifteen years and change, and _still_ the old decommissioned freighter ship hasn’t been demolished.

Even just the name on the rusty surface is enough to make Connor nostalgic.

 _Jericho_.

“Well, work is actually undergoing.” Markus reveals, pointing out the various bit of scaffolding connecting the dock to the vessel. “It took a long time because of contractual bullshit, but they estimate it’ll be gone by next year.”

So the city is authorizing a slow demolition work rather than just blowing it up. Sensible, considering it’s technically in the middle of an urban area.

Unable to quite help himself, Connor smirks at Markus. “Do you still play Spiderman all over the place?”

“Oh, Spiderman _wishes_ he was as good as I am.” The other retorts, taking a few steps back to get a running start before heaving himself up the scaffolding and smiling down at Connor. “Come on, ‘upper management’ boy! Do you think you can still keep up?”

“Markus, are you sure that is safe?” Okay, so Simon is clearly a bit of a mother hen –even Josh follows his movements with a concerned face… then again, they met Markus well after Connor moved cities, they can’t know that the two of them used to climb around this place all the time…

Which was most definitely not safe when they were kids, and it probably is not now either, but his professional expertise gives him a solid leeway for playing around high places.

“It’s okay, guys.” He assures Simon and Josh, loosening his tie and taking off his blazer to tie it at his waist. “We used to do this back when we were kids.”

Making it a point of taking a quicker and cleaner route than the one Markus has taken, Connor is by his side in six seconds flat, looking at the other with an expectant look.

Markus is biting at his lower lip in barely concealed glee. “Good to see you haven’t lost it.”

“Muscle memory, my friend.”

There’s barely time for a low giggle that they both take off running after one another amidst scaffolding and old platforms, ignoring poor Simon’s cry of “Markus, wait!!!”

And just like that, they’re gone.

“Goddamn it, Markus…” Simon lets out an exasperated sigh, but Josh simply takes his hand and tugs him towards himself.

“He’ll be fine. Let’s just go back.”

 

Connor focuses so much on following Markus and not losing sight of him that he doesn’t even notice his friend making a turn for what was once the captain’s cabin, at least not until Markus turns to have a quick look around and then slinks down to sit with his back against the wall.

“Something the matter?” he asks, plopping down beside him.

Markus just shakes his head at first, then leans away from the wall for a moment to take off his canvas jacket and toss it aside. He leans back up against the wall with a pensive look upwards.

“Nah. Simon is a great guy, but… sometimes he likes too much to act like he’s my babysitter.”

So his assumption was correct. Not surprising, considering people-reading is an essential skill for an assassin. Judging by Markus’ quick escape and still slightly frustrated demeanor, it’s not the first time he uses his tendency to parkour his way around places to shake off his mother-hen friend.

“He probably means well…” he offers, not really having much else to say that would be socially appropriate, and Markus turns to the side to look at him.

He’s leaning a bit closer than Connor assumed he would be.

“I’m sure he does, but… I’m not a scrawny teenager anymore.” Markus’ voice drops to a murmur as he speaks, “I’m a grown-ass man.”

“Yes, you are…” it would be so easy, right now. Lean in the rest of the way, let Markus believe there was a spark between them just now, and have him like putty under his fingertips until the time comes.

It would make all of his defenses, if any, crumble –Connor only remembers Markus’ very first childhood crush, but even back then he was a pretty intense kid. Markus would just open up to him like a book; he would tell Connor anything he wants to know, if for some reason he was hiding something.

Connor would know how to _make him_.

But he doesn’t lean in. His traitorous eyes have dropped to Markus’ full lips for a second, playing with the idea of tasting them, but ultimately decided against it.

Too risky, he tells himself, one false step and he could expose himself, not to mention he’d be making himself a target for all the idiots who are still after Markus, and he needs a clear head and full freedom of action to beat the competition to the prize.

Well, that and… he doesn’t want to do that to Markus— it would be the worst kind of betrayal; and whatever the reason people are after him for, Markus doesn’t deserve to have his heart toyed with.

So Connor stays put, lets Markus lean back and laugh it off as they both catch their breath from the run, and silently licks his lips to make up for a phantom taste that suddenly seems to be missing.

“Hey. The wall we used to measure our heights against is still there.” Markus eventually says, pointing to the other side of the cabin. “Wanna go update it?”

One last hurrah before demolition. Or, one of many –Connor has the sneaking suspicion they’ll come back here often before the ship goes down.

Markus takes him by the hand before he can even say yes, and they spend almost the entire afternoon exploring the derelict freighter and having stupid –and probably dangerous– free-running races all over the place.

When he realizes that he’s smiling to himself on the way home, with much too warm a feeling in his chest, Connor shakes himself out of his daze roughly and makes a decision.

He has _one_ allotted call out that he can make during every assignment, and this will be the one time he uses it.

Chloe picks up within two rings.

_»_ _Hello? How unusual of you to call at this time of the day._

Connor breathes in relief; she’s alone and can talk freely, though the agency likely still monitors the calls.

“It’s always a good time for friends.” He says, responding to her initial coded statement with his own, “How soon can you be to my place?”

_»_ _I’m not sure… do you need help?_

“Sort of. Need some intel on a few very specific things.”

_»_ _I can send someone—_

He interrupts her before that thought even reaches fruition. “No. I need you. It’s stuff that requires a certain… finesse.”

_»_ _Should I pack my nice dress?_

She’s asking if she should keep an opening for the agency to follow her or if he wants her to go deep and make herself untraceable, just like him.

“The best, even. Call this number when you’re in town.”

He hangs up and closes his eyes, resting his forehead against his hands.

“What a stupid decision.” He chastises himself. “What a stupid-ass thing to do.”

Sitting on this bed, with his knees drawn up under his elbows and his head downcast, Connor is already second guessing himself. He can trust Chloe –she’s been his handler ever since the start, he’s shared thoughts and doubts with her before that have never made it to Amanda’s desk.

She knows to be discreet and not to throw one of her very best under the bus over an understandable concern. She will understand.

More importantly, she has a bigger pool of resources to find anything about anyone. As soon as Chloe gets here, Connor will finally know what it is about Markus that has warranted a contract for his head.

He will finally have all the elements he needs to make a decision.

Schrodinger comes into the room, meowing for food at the perfect time to distract Connor from wondering what exactly his decision would be, once the time comes.

“My God, you’re such a fat ass.” He teases, as if the cat could understand him. Still, the feline is his only company and, even if he won’t admit it, it is a comfort to have him around.

Connor picks him up and walks to the kitchen while the bundle of fur purrs happily against his chest.

As the furball happily stuffs his face with deliciously expensive cat food, Connor leans against his kitchen table ad sighs –he should probably start dinner for himself too, but he’s not really feeling angry.

Quite the contrary, there’s something in his chest that feels like it’s clamping his stomach closed –and he has an idea of what it is:

“You know… just between me and you, Schrodinger… I think I have to admit it.” He mutters, more to himself than to the cat, “I don’t want to kill my best friend. I’m not looking forward to that moment at all.”

For the first time in his whole assassin career, Connor genuinely feels like there’s a chance that he wouldn’t be able to carry out his orders.

And it terrifies him.


	4. Busted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The people in the immediate vicinity are too stunned to react, but the others quickly set about evacuating, urged on by the gallery staff.
> 
> Regardless of that, something breaks in Connor's heart: after this, Markus _knows._
> 
> He likely won't want to have anything to do with Connor ever again.
> 
> At least, he'll live to hate him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SWEET MOTHER OF ROBOJESUS THIS WAS TORTURE.
> 
> Mostly because it kept going and going and I couldn't find a good stopping point.
> 
> So.  
> Shit's going down. Most of you peeps from the discord already know what's up. Don't spoil it for those who didn't, though I'm pretty sure it was easy enough to call.  
> Some people in the previous chapter's comments got kinda close.
> 
> Either way  
> Take this.  
> I have to wake up in five hours  
> I'm not even remotely sleepy.  
> Fuck me I guess.  
> ♥ ♥ ♥

In the few days during which Connor has to wait for Chloe to make up an identity and come to him, there are two more instances of strange 'accidents' coincidentally threatening Markus' life.

A waitress in a café just happened to make Markus' drink wrong and assured him she would bring it to their table in a second, then conveniently 'spilled' it when Connor tried to grab for it asking Markus if he could have a taste of it. The whole thing wouldn't have been that suspicious if she hadn't appeared and disappeared always when there happened to be no one in the immediate vicinity to see her except the two of them; and Connor's suspicions were confirmed when he flagged down another guy to ask him where she went and the waiter looked pretty confused as he told them no one fitting that description worked there.

Markus was pretty weirded out, and Connor explained it away with dark humor, saying that maybe it was one of his many admirers stalking him.

Luckily enough, if such an occurrence could be called at all lucky, the second 'accident' went down without Markus noticing anything off at all.

Connor's bike was finally ready and he kept his promise to take Markus for a ride— two other riders tried tailing them and being just the right amount of obnoxious that it could make a lesser driver lose control but no one would be able to prove it was their fault.

Connor squeezed one into a corner and forced the other to drive off the road.

When Markus asked what the noise was, he simply told him traffic was a bit of a bitch. They still managed to have a nice day out riding along the riverbank and exploring almost-forgotten ‘secret places’.

 

"And he doesn't suspect anything?" Chloe asks, while they're in separate supermarket lanes pretending to each be having their own hushed phone conversation.

"Not to my knowledge." Connor mutters to a bag of cat food, "Plus, he's not exactly the professional killer type."

"Do I detect a hint of fondness?"

The friendly teasing voice does little to stop Connor's defensiveness. "I think you detect a hint of shut the hell up."

"Don't take that tone with me." Whoops. Wrong answer. "I'm here without the agency's knowledge and I lied to Amanda. Anything in this goes sideways; it's my ass on the line, too."

She's right –Connor doesn't know what part of him believed the agency could ever be cool with him investigating a target independently, but it hadn't sunk in until now. When he says nothing, Chloe presses on:

"So let's not insult my intelligence, here. Anything that could compromise you, I need to know."

"Fine. Meet me at the place you find here."

He scrawls a set of coordinates on a scrap of paper and then turns sharply, bumping into her as he walks to the check out. "Oh— my apologies, miss."

"That's alright." She smiles politely at him as he says sorry again and they bid each other a good day. Like perfect strangers.

 

"Chicken Feed? Really?"

The assassin chuckles at her unimpressed tone. "Hey. The burgers are good." He protests, "Health, safety and hygiene regulations? Eh, not so much."

"Should I even bother getting anything but a soft drink?"

"That depends of how much of a believer you are in the five seconds rule."

Chloe holds back a disgusted laugh. "Alright let's change topics before I puke. What is so special about this one that you had to wonder why?"

Oh, here we go. Connor takes a deep breath and braces for what's to come.

"He's my closest childhood friend from... before. He's never hurt anyone and it's borderline absurd that there's a contract on his life."

To her credit, Chloe keeps it professional and just stays silent for a few seconds, before clearing her voice: "Name?"

"Markus Manfred. Scar over his right eyebrow, differently colored eyes, teaches a special ed art class in Ferndale."

"Sounds like a nice man." She comments, with just the barest hint of wistfulness in her voice.

Connor can definitely relate. "Yeah. He's a dork."

"I'll start a search and find out anything I can. You keep watching him and keep rival contractors off our back."

"Yes ma'am." Connor fights the urge to mock-salute her, since they're in public, however semi-deserted the area is at this time of the day; and he just stays put in his seat while she goes to toss her soda cup in the recycle bin and walks away.

He stays behind for a while to avoid giving away that they were in any way together, and has to make an effort not to do a double-take when he sees another familiar face.

Lieutenant Hank Anderson.

The one man who didn’t believe everything was as alright as his parents made it sound to Child Protective Services and the one to insist a thorough investigation was launched— Connor was fairly old when he was eventually brought into the foster care system that eventually landed him at the agency’s doorstep as an assassin for hire, but he still doesn’t remember his parents anymore: when there’s not much to remember, your brain doesn’t mind forgetting it all.

Back then, Anderson had been a tough but fair kind of man, he allegedly had a son Connor’s age and that might have been part of the reason he got so invested on getting _him_ out of that nightmarish household…

Connor wonders if the Lieutenant would consider him his biggest failure, if he knew where he eventually ended up.

He moves to get up before his thoughts go too far— Markus never knew why he left, or rather, Connor never told him. As far as he was concerned, Connor was a normal boy with a normal life, who just could stay out late a lot or even sleep over and his folks wouldn’t get mad; and who eventually simply moved away.

In reality, the neglect was bad enough that Connor would be left without meals when he was too small to cook for himself and completely ignored for days on end, it came to the point where those people were barely aware of a kid in the house and when he tried to approach them for… anything, be it affection or just to talk, the reaction would be _‘Ugh, it’s you. What do you want?’_

Nope. Nope, not going down that road. He gets up to walk away, and briefly crosses gazes with Anderson –the Lieutenant looks at him like he’s trying to place his face, but Connor simply nods in a silent greeting and moves on.

That was entirely too close.

With almost comedic timing, he receives a text from Markus soon after:

_» So what are you doing Sunday evening?_

It's dangerous how easily the smile comes to Connor's face.

_» Why? Are you finally asking me for a date?_

_» Maybe, maybe not. I've been given slots to display some of my works and my students' paintings at a gallery, opening this weekend. Thought you might wanna come poke fun at me some more._

Art galleries are not Connor's scene... but they aren't Markus' scene either by a long shot. This will be fun.

Not to mention very fertile grounds for some other jackass to try and assassinate Markus again.

_» Just say it; you want me to be your socialization buffer._

_» Guilty! It's your own fault for being such a good body guard._

Funny you should use that definition, Markus.

Connor shakes his head to himself. This fucking job will drive him crazy.

He has to remind himself he can't just wear a holster under his blazer on the exhibition day. Going unarmed feels awful, almost like he’s going without pants or something, but the situation is not yet dire enough to justify such a careless risk of blowing his cover.

Instead, he puts an empty fountain pen in his jacket’s breast pocket and attaches a key holder to his motorbike keys that looks suspiciously similar to a set of brass knuckles. Improvised melee weapons are less than ideal, but it’ll be better than nothing at the very least. He checks himself into the mirror and sighs: spending so much time with Markus, pretending to have a normal life, nearly made him forget that he is anything but. Connor nearly had the thought, once or twice, to say ‘fuck the mission’ and just take back his place as the eccentric and dorky painter’s best friend… or maybe do something about the way Markus looks at him and take it from there.

It’s all Markus’ fault. Him and his stupid, cutesy texts, the casual over-the-phone flirtation and the way he turns shy as a schoolboy as soon as they’re face to face instead.

Connor has come to enjoy their back and forth, which in and of itself is harmless, but going from ‘thinking  that keeping Marks attracted to him could be useful’ to ‘catching himself actually daydreaming about going on dates’ is an embarrassing rookie mistake. He’s already berating himself before he can even finish the thought of wanting to look nice for Markus’ big day.

Glancing at his burner phone, he sees a text from Chloe:

_» Might have something but not too sure yet. Going to check out a hunch I have -that last name is way too familiar._

 

Finally. Chloe has connections practically everywhere, it's very likely she will find out whatever secret Markus could be hiding tonight and Connor's conscience will be put to rest.

_» Well, don't rush. Let me enjoy my date tonight._

After all, he'll likely have to pull the trigger tomorrow.

Part of him wonders if he should try and seduce Markus this evening, then, so he will have him in the perfect place for the kill in the morning... a smaller, almost forgotten part of him recoils at the very thought, screaming _'I can't do that to him.'_

He can rationalize all he wants, but the truth is that Connor doesn't want Markus to die thinking he betrayed him.

Then it goes a step further, and it flashes through his head that he just _doesn't want Markus to die at all_.

Damn it.

Damn it all to hell. He's already compromised.

He was compromised from the first goddamn moment he faced those stupidly pretty mismatched eyes.

Chloe is gonna be so pissed.

 

The gallery itself is not a huge venue, but it's definitely impressive that Markus landed an exhibit here and that they agreed to display works from his elementary and middle school students.

There's a man at the entrance with a list but from what Connor can understand from afar is more of a health and safety thing than an actually exclusive guest list— people who don't appear on the list are simply required to sign themselves in on a blank list sheet with the other security guy and have their bags summarily checked.

Still subpar security, but better than most events he's seen.

The most pressing matter is that he has no fucking clue whether he's on the list or not.

"Evening, sir. Are you on the guest list?"

He smiles his softest and most unassuming smile at the guard.

"I'm actually not sure. I'm waiting for a friend, and..."

"He's my plus one."

Excellent timing, Markus. The security guard seems to know him pretty well, clapping the painter on the shoulder.

"Hey, Markus! Coming straight from practice?"

"You know me, Ian." Markus grins as they make small talk, "If I don't put in my hours I feel like something is missing."

The big, cylindrical gym bag is quite dissonant with the rest of Markus' outfit— this might be the first ever time Connor sees him in clothes that are not stained in paint somewhere.

It's a nice, light grey suit with a dark green tie and pocket square.

Connor comments before he can help it: "You clean up well."

"You don't look so bad yourself." The way Markus just slightly bites down on his lower lip as he says that makes Connor want to drop on his knees, let the truth spill out and beg for forgiveness— this poor sucker has no idea of what a scumbag Connor is in reality, the only reason Markus is even attracted to him is because he thinks the boy he remembers is still somewhere in the man Connor is now.

Still, the assassin pushes the thought down and offers his arm.

"Shall we, then?"

Markus' smile will likely kill him before he gets the chance to do anything anyway.

 

Shit, there are a lot of kids around –those old enough to be out and about anyway, all accompanied by parents.

If anyone would be dumb enough to want to carry out an assassination during this event, the collateral damage would be a bloodbath.

Connor memorizes all the exits and the location of every fire alarm, just in case he needs to empty the building fast.

"Markus!!! What a pleasure to see you!" A comely lady around her forties approaches them within minutes of them entering and Markus leaving his gym bag to the side with the custodian. It is very clear that the 'pleasure' is not shared.

The painter is stiff as a broom as he bows his head politely. "Mrs. Dunn." He greets, then turning to Connor, "This lady is the mother of a very talented 8 year old. Ma'am, this is my friend Connor."

"Such formality... I told you many times, _dearie_ , drop the ma'am, I'm only Sylvia for you."

Ah. Of course. It wouldn't be a big event without at least _one_ cougar.

Taking pity on Markus, Connor decides to act as his buffer and extends his hand. "It's lovely to meet you, _ma'am_." He says, turning a fond gaze on his friend which can and will be taken a certain way, "Markus always tells me how much he cares for all his kids."

After all, he's already been protecting Markus from enemy assassin. Protecting him from unwanted advances has the added bonus of pretending to actually be his date.

The look on the painter's face is grateful beyond belief and Connor has to hold back a genuine chuckle.

"That's strange..." the lady says with a sudden air of icy politeness, "He never mentioned you."

The assassin almost thinks he'll need to strangle a bitch this soon into the night, but Markus himself steps in:

"That's because I thought Connor was 'the one that got away'... at least until a couple weeks ago."

Shit, that sounds way too sincere for Connor's taste. He needs a drink –though probably he won't find one, considering there are kids around. Still. Getting away from this hag will do.

"Will you show me where your paintings are?" He asks in the most saccharine tone possible, completely ignoring whatever the lady could have to say, "I'm curious."

He will never get tired of the way Markus' lips part into a smile for him. For a number of reasons.

"Of course. If you'll excuse us, Mrs. Dunn..."

This is little more than a game of play pretend like the ones they made up as children, but Connor is determined to enjoy it while it lasts.

 

In the meantime, Chloe has been busy. Betraying the agency like this is huge, it's terrifying –and she knows they're betraying it, from the moment Connor called her she knew he couldn't kill his only memory of a better past... she knows she wouldn't. So she's thrown herself fully into this and made arrangements with a select few people she trusts; and her contacts have come through: the name Manfred was way too familiar, and now she knows why –it's the family that largely dominates Detroit's underground activity. Virtually no big crime goes on in the city that hasn't been okayed by Carl Manfred. Small time criminals with no loyalties are harder to keep in check and also other 'firms' have been trying to fight the old family for a few years now, unsuccessfully so far— but nearly no one knows of a Markus belonging to the family, the man was practically a ghost in the underground scene until one informer gave her a juicy detail:

_«As far as folks know, Leo is old man Manfred's only son, lined up to take over the business once the big cahoot retires or kicks it, but the people closest to the family have been known to gossip about an older brother, from a pre-marriage affair. Guy wants nothing to do with the 'family business' and rarely sees his folks. Old man Manfred is sad but respects that, keeps him safe and does his best to keep the boy's identity secret. Dunno if it's true, but it might interest you, since you're researching the Manfreds.»_

It definitely would explain the dissonance between Markus' lifestyle and the contract for his head. According to this informer, Carl Manfred tries to run as 'clean' an organization as a crime syndicate can afford to be; and he has a set of lines that are strictly not to be crossed: no child labor or trafficking, no underage workers in 'massage parlors' –children are basically off-limits for anything and anyone– drug trafficking, if any, has to hold up to precise standard and not scam junkies out of money with stuff that will just kill them, and so forth and so on.

Carl Manfred is arguably still a horrible man, but he works with the tools he's got. Many people around the city streets actually respect the man –old Manfred's people will protect them when the police wouldn't, so long as they keep their nose to themselves.

The archery range Markus goes to, for example.

It was originally a family owned business, until the current owner was orphaned when her mother wouldn't pay some assholes trying to extort money out of her on a territorial claim –a bunch of hooligans came and tried to waste the place, and when the cops didn't come to help, North Renee Ingstrom ran out on the street and yelled at the top of her lungs for someone, anyone to help.

Not fifteen minutes after, the men ransacking her place were beaten black and blue and kneeling in an alley at the back of the range –Manfred's men didn't appreciate those guys terrorizing and attacking a 17 year old girl.

She was told to run back inside and just not look back; and no one reported ever hearing any gunshots.

Chloe doesn't know how true the story is and whether or not it's a coincidence that Markus goes to this particular range, but she's about to find out.

"Hello? I'm sorry I might have gotten lost, is this where the archery lessons are?"

The door is still unlocked, but the woman behind the reception counter has clearly just been cashing up and was likely going over the rest of the closing procedures, but when she looks up at Chloe she still smiles.

"Oh, hello! I don't believe I've seen you before... I'm just closing up, but if you're looking to start I can give you some info, if you can wait around a bit?"

Damn it. Connor was right, people around here are… disarmingly genuine. Looking at her it doesn’t look _one_ bit like she was traumatized at a young age.

“That’s very kind of you. I’m Chloe.”

“North.” The range owner says,  still flitting about the place to carry out closing procedures but not minding the casual conversation –another hint that she’s definitely under Manfred’s protection: no business owner in their right mind would let a stranger, potential customer or not, stick around for the closing. “Have you ever done archery before?”

Chloe looks around, pretending it’s just curiosity at the new place. “Not really… but I’d love to try it out.”

Shit. Four men are coming this way from the other side of the street.

Whatever they want, she needs to wrap this up fast— those assholes have matching patches on their biker jackets and she doubts it’s a book club.

“Evenin’, ladies.”

Apparently, North is not as naïve as she looked at first sight: instead of returning the greeting, she grabs a fucking _bow and quiver_ from under the counter and _takes aim_.

“What do you want?”

The biker who spoke doesn’t seem too scared. Instead, he just cracks out a laugh and turns to his buddies: “See? I told you guys _she_ was the one protecting Markus.”

Oh. Oh, _crap_. While Connor acted as Markus’ de facto bodyguard, no one got close enough to see him in the face, at least no one that lived to tell. So they think North is protecting Markus in exchange for his father protecting her business.

Talk about unfortunate misunderstandings.

She discreetly reaches a hand into her purse to wrap around her gun and take the safety off.

Fuck this. In for a penny, in for a pound.

“Now, gentlemen.” She tries in a pacifying tone, stepping forward slowly. “Let’s not do anything that _some_ of us might regret…”

“Chloe, no, get behind me—”

“One move and she’s fucking dead!!!” the biker makes a grab for Chloe and uses her as a human shield of sorts, holding her at knife point. He still hasn’t noticed the purse. “Drop the bow!!!”

He sounds so sure of himself, Chloe has to hold back a smile –oh, this is going to be fun.

Just as North was cursing silently and lowering her sights, Chloe elbows her captor in the pit of his stomach, turns as he stumbles back to grab the wrist of the arm holding the knife and uses it as leverage to tug the man back to herself, place the muzzle of her gun right under his chin and shoot his brains out.

The other three bikers are stunned for a second, but then they all charge at once.

Chloe shoots the first one before he can even come close, twists out of a grab from the second and shoots him twice in the stomach and is only stopped for a moment as the last one tries to grab her by the hair.

She has to drop the gun to slam her hands over his and was already maneuvering her body around to escape the grip and break both his arms, when the hold suddenly goes slack with a sudden jerking motion.

Judging from the _‘thwack’_ sound, Chloe can already tell the man has been nailed with an arrow before she even looks.

North did good, but she looks in shock –she’s probably getting flashbacks.

“Oh my God… oh my fucking God…” she is staring into space and mumbling to herself.

Chloe just has one thing to do before tending to her.

With a swift kick to turn him, she addresses the man with the stomach wounds still bleeding out on the range floor. “Who sent you, and why are you after Markus?”

“It… doesn’t matter…” the man gurgles, “He’ll die soon enough. Old man Manfred has gotten too powerful and other gangs want to make an example out of him… but he and his other son are too well protected.”

So they go after the ‘innocent’ one, to break Carl Manfred’s heart and send a message.

Dicks.

When she grabs the biker by the head and breaks his neck, it’s mostly out of _spite_.

“What the fuck is happening?!”

Right. Traumatized sort-of-civilian, here. Chloe adjusts her hair and approaches North carefully.

“Hey. It’s over. You did it.” She says, hands outstretched in the most non-threatening way possible. “You saved me.” It’s not really true, but North did save Chloe the trouble of going one-on-one with the last guy. It’s also a good way of giving her a rationalization for what’s likely her first murder. “I’m going to take the bow from you now, is that okay?”

North gives her a trembling nod and her shoulders relax minutely. She still can't believe a gang would try to mess with her shop again and that there was a full blown gunfight just now— she can't believe she actually speared a man with an arrow and, most importantly, she can't believe the nice blonde with the silk blouse and the kitten heels went Calamity Jane on these guys' asses.

Holy shit. That’s actually kind of sexy.

She shakes her head to clear out the thought –not the time!

"Who the fuck are you?"

That's an excellent question. Chloe gives her what's probably trying to be a reassuring smile. "For now? A friend. People are after Markus, but a friend of mine is looking out for him, and he's the best at what he does."

"Friend? The— the guy from two Sundays ago. Connor. The freak accident... he 'stumbled' and saved Markus from being impaled."

 

That's an impressive presence of spirit for someone who still kind of looks like they're about to throw up.

"Yes." Chloe confirms, gently placing a hand on her shoulder and leading her away from the bodies. "We need to get rid of these guys and warn Connor that somebody might still be coming for them."

The shock and fear on North's face slowly get replaced with anger and determination.

"Oh, we can do more than that." She swallows down empty air and then takes a deep breath in and out, to calm herself down a bit, before she goes back behind the counter and grabs the phone to dial. "...Leo? It's North." There's a brief pause that makes the redhead chuckle, "Yeah I know we haven't always seen eye to eye but some shit went down that I think you really should know about. _And_ your father." She briefly looks up at Chloe and smiles slightly, in a 'watch this' fashion. "It's about Markus."

 

Back at the gallery, things have been fine so far: the exposition is not a terribly big one, with a dozen pictures, one for each student, and four works from Markus himself. The hall is nice and there’s a buffet table with refreshments on the far side of it, though it probably wouldn’t hold a candle to the Manfred Gallery.

But it is a very ‘Markus’ move to go indie, if only to prove he doesn’t need his father’s big name to showcase his talent. Despite the pleasant evening and the pride for his best friend, Connor has been on edge the whole time –he nearly jumps out of his skin when he gets clapped on the shoulder by a smiling Josh with Simon in tow.

"Fancy seeing you here!" He tells Connor, "Are you Markus' plus one?"

Remembering his cover and their act, Connor smiles. "Is it that obvious?"

At Josh's side, Simon chuckles.

"Kind of, yeah." He says, "Markus also may or may not have been ranting and raving about how glad he is to have you back."

_Twist that knife, blondie, why don't you?_

To be fair, these two seem to be rather close friends with the painter, and on every occasion he's come across them in the last couple of weeks while with Markus there was light hearted but definitely affectionate bickering.

He might be getting paranoid, though, because he could swear these two have been _watching him_. Well, _more_ paranoid.

Markus chooses that moment to come back to him with drinks.

"There you are! Unfortunately, the strongest thing they have is pineapple juice, so we'll have to make do." He offers Connor a glass with his usual puppy dog smile and nods at the other two. "Hey guys. Enjoying the gallery?"

"You've done beautiful work with this class. I couldn't be more proud of you if I tried." Josh claps the painter on the shoulder like he did for Connor, and then gives him a sympathetic squeeze. "I'm sure your father and brother would be proud, too."

"I've asked them not to come."

There's a sadness in Markus' voice that is at odds with how affectionate his phone calls with his father sounded on his tracking device.

Simon sighs wistfully. "Markus..."

"No. You guys know how I feel. This is my safe space, and I—" Markus briefly looks at Connor and catches his word –it's the first time the assassin sees him try to hide something... and he sucks at it. "You guys should go too. Enjoy your night out or whatever."

 

There's a beat of awkward silence, but Josh clears his voice and perks up to diffuse: "Well, if you wanted to be left alone with your date you only had to ask." He sends Connor a wink and takes Simon by the arm, "Come on, let's go grab one last drink before we head out. I'm feeling a walk under the stars."

Markus says nothing, but smiles thankfully at Josh.

Connor lets the silence sit for all of five seconds –after all, it would be more suspicious not to ask.

"Is there any particular reason you wouldn't want your family attending your big gallery party?"

Pineapple juice forgotten, Markus keeps his eyes downcast for a moment, before looking back up at him.

"There's something I have to tell you..."

Connor could swear he's in a goddamn movie, because people around here just have the shittiest timing: he's just about to find out what the deal with Markus is, and a man in a waiter uniform is getting a gun out of his apron to fire it right at Markus.

"Look out!!!" Connor shoves him out of the way and gets nicked in the shoulder for his efforts, but he's quick to get his fountain pen out and throw it at the assailant, the pointy end of it serving nicely as it stabs him in the throat.

The man falls on the floor in choked gasps, but the damage is done: the gunshot first and the gruesome scene right after have already disrupted the evenings and someone is screaming while the panicked onlookers try to make sense of what just happened.

That's the least of Connor's concern: more men are coming for them.

Markus is looking at him wide-eyed and breathless, but he recovers with an impressive speed and does what Connor himself would have done: he runs to the first fire alarm and punches it in.

The people in the immediate vicinity are too stunned to react, but the others quickly set about evacuating, urged on by the gallery staff.

Regardless of that, something breaks in Connor's heart: after this, Markus _knows_.

He likely won't want to have anything to do with Connor ever again.

At least, he'll live to hate him.

With that thought, Connor slides over to the fallen hitman and grabs his gun.

"That's more like it." He mutters to himself, standing back up and firing at the man he sees closest to Markus.

The painter has just run to the main hall to make sure all the kids go out and now he's—

He's—

He's taking his bow and quiver out from the gym bag he left with the custodian and looks ready to _shank some bitches_.

The shock is big enough that Connor takes a punch as he watches Markus line up a shot and fire with no hesitation and no regrets, arrow whizzing through the air and embedding itself into the face of one of the fake waiters trying to rush them, with enough force for the arrowhead to go clean through the skull and _pin the body to the wall_.

And amidst all the more obvious and practical realizations, the loudest thought in Connor’s mind is _‘fuck, that’s hot’._

He still doesn’t let that stop him, recovers from the hit he just took by elbowing his assailant in the throat and then shooting him at point blank range in the chest.

Movement all around them makes them end up back to back, Connor realizes when his shoulder bumps against the quiver at Markus’ back, and he has yet another thought: They’re fighting side by side. Just the two of them against the world— just like when they were kids.

So many variables have just changed –Markus _knows,_ but apparently he hasn’t been completely honest with Connor either, and he definitely isn’t the dorky, innocent boy Connor thought him to be, considering he’s not only slaughtering these men like he’s been trained to kill, but he also seemed to be almost expecting them.

On one hand, Connor feels betrayed and a little disappointed. On the other hand… the thrill of yelling “Eyes up!” to Markus about a man trying to take aim at him and watching his long-time friend spin around lightning fast before drawing back with a strong arm and skewering his opponent before he could even properly curl his finger around the trigger is… indescribable.

This could be their life.

Massacring bad guys together— that might say something worrying about the way Connor’s brain works, but he doesn’t have the luxury for introspection right now –he’s already bleeding, albeit from a minor graze, and even though three guys are down already, there’s five more to go.

Simon and Josh almost single-handedly evacuated all the event guests, and they're doubling back to seemingly join the fray— Connor feels silently vindicated: he was right about Markus having shadows!

With those two's help they might actually wrap this up soon. He's been doing ok with this stolen gun, but he eventually gets bull-rushed and has to lower it in favor of getting the brass knuckles out of his pocket and upper-cutting the man who just tried to seize him by the shoulders -he can already feel a second guy try to swipe at his back and he hates that he can't focus properly on protecting Markus, even though the other has been holding his own just fine so far.

The sound of ripping fabric joins the cacophony of the fight as the restricting jacket of Markus' suit tears at the shoulder and side seam under the stress of a full draw -the painter has just thrown himself on the floor to narrowly dodge a shot at his head, and only sits up enough to line the shot and fire the arrow.

Twin shots ring out in their general vicinity that tell Connor that Josh and Simon were armed this whole time, and the last assailant standing is the one he's still fighting.

Connor suddenly is so done with this. He parries a jab at his face and knocks the man's arms open, then grabs him at the sides of the head and brings the fuckface down to passionately meet his left knee.

The silence finally falling in the room allows the four of them to hear the sirens in the distance.

"Alright, Markus, let's split." Josh urges, tugging on the painter's left arm.

Markus shrugs it off. "Why? There's security cameras and some of the bodies are pinned to the walls by arrows. They're gonna know what happened anyway!"

"Let us take care of that."

"I hate it when you say that!" The painter is almost full-on yelling at Simon, the police will be here soon and Connor's cover is blown anyway... he does the only thing that makes sense:

"No time to argue, Markus. Let's go. I'm sure you guys have some questions for me."

The look Markus gives him is just shy of crestfallen and it breaks Connor's heart a little, but he gives a brisk nod and they file quickly out through a side door.

They're all surprised to find a nondescript grey car waiting for them and a young man with dark hair, light eyes and just a hint of stubble leaning against it.

"What have you gotten yourself into, this time, big brother?"

Holy shit. That's— fuck, that's _Leo Manfred_. His father is the man secretly running the whole city... Chloe called it; she did say the last name was familiar. How did it ever escape him?! He tries to surreptitiously check his phone and manages to see three missed calls from Chloe under the fake contact ‘Diana’; but it’s quickly snatched out of his grip.

“Sorry about this, but I’ll have to take it.” Josh says apologetically, “I’m guessing it’s a burner anyway?”

Connor relinquishes the device without too much protest, watching Markus reluctantly tell his brother he doesn’t really know what’s happening, and briefly hug him, regardless of the initial glare he shot the brunette.

“Are you guys not going to blindfold me or knock me out?”

After Simon and Josh guide him and Markus in the backseat and retire to presumably their own vehicle, Leo himself gets into the driver’s seat with a shrug:

“What would be the point? If you’re who Markus says you are, you’ve been over enough times to remember the way by heart, _Connor_.”

Yeah, coming to think of it, Connor is asking himself _how_ he didn’t connect the dots sooner. In his defence, the Manfred family branched out a lot and there are quite a few people that carry the name and don’t even know where it comes from… and back when they were children it was just ‘Markus’, surnames didn’t matter that much, and it’s very likely that Carl did everything in his power to keep his sons as blissfully oblivious as possible to the family’s _activities_ to let them have a semblance of a normal childhood.

Shit. Maybe that’s what happened— when they were old enough to find out, Leo accepted to take on the mantle, and Markus –gentle, compassionate, non-violent Markus– decided he wanted nothing to do with that and walked out.

It would explain a lot.

Still. Markus is the son to Carl _motherfucking_ Manfred.

The car ride is spent mostly in a somewhat heavy silence, exception made for a text Markus receives from his archery range owner friend. Connor discreetly reads it from the corner of his eye.

_» Yo, are u ok? Can’t explain rn but I’m with a friend who knows Connor. Trouble’s heading your way. Pls let me know you’re alive when you get this. Connor too, if possible._

So Chloe found North –she likely already discovered what has been going on with Markus and the people after his life, and was trying to call him to let him know. The small smile crossing the painter’s lips briefly is a welcome respite from the lost expression he’s been wearing, though he still does not speak a word.

Connor spies his reply too.

_» Both Connor and I are fine. There was a scuffle, but Simon and Josh were there and Leo came to get us. Headed home, will report in after the coming shitstorm._

Well. That’s not at all ominous –though Connor can appreciate that at least Markus knows how to convey information without saying anything incriminating.

…definitely not that shy, dorky boy anymore.

Lafayette Avenue is still luminous and pretty, filled with lovely trees that liven up the atmosphere, even in the darkness of the deepening night. Connor looks out the car window and sees images of himself and Markus when they were kids, playing in the streets with scuffed knees on colorful bicycles.

“Alright, fellas, this is it.” Leo announces cheerfully, trying very hard to sound casual and collected, “Take a load off, we’re home.”

Markus exits the car with a shake of the head, looking back at Connor with regret. “…Sorry about all of this.”

“Ah, don’t be such a pessimist, Markus!” Leo claps his brother on the shoulder in what wants to be encouragement, “He did look out for you. That counts for a lot.”

Oh, the irony. His attachment to Markus has just gone from being a liability to basically being his life insurance.

The mansion is just as he remembers it as well: the exquisite masonry, the warm red color of the bricks, even the bow window –Carl Manfred’s house was the reason Connor became dead set of getting bow windows for a house to call his own.

“So, uh… this is gonna sound awkward, but I kinda have to restrain you.”

“Leo!” Markus is nothing short of indignant at the way his brother just holds up a pair of handcuffs. “We haven’t even treated his shoulder yet, he took _a bullet_ for me!”

Oh, right… that. In all his emotional turmoil and adrenaline still pumping from the fight, Connor nearly cannot feel the pain of the bullet graze –what he does feel is a rush of warmth in his chest at the idea that Markus can still be outraged on his behalf even after he blew his cover.

It’s a feeling Connor hasn’t had in… ever.

“It’s okay, Markus.” He assures with a smile, “If it’s for your safety, I consent to being restrained.”

Markus looks dissatisfied as he offers his wrists willingly, while Leo is genuinely impressed.

“Good man.” He comments, “Keep this up, and you’ll just breeze through this meeting.”

Meeting. At the Manfred residence.

Connor is about to stand trial for his deception before Carl Manfred himself.

He wonders if the man remembers him from when he was just ‘little Connor’ and Carl would give Markus treats for them to share.

Steeling himself with a deep breath, he lets Leo lead him inside, Markus still silent but never leaving him.

Well, what do you know; they really did keep the giraffe.

“My… how you've grown."

It's so weird to hear Carl's voice again, deep, rumbling and slightly raucous with older age and a good few years of recreational drinking, if Connor had to guess.

He's surprised to see the man in a wheelchair, even though Markus mentioned it, seeing it is another thing; Carl looks more petite than Connor remembers too, his tattoos, barely poking out of his sleeves, have faded with age; and yet he hasn't lost an ounce of the quiet but powerful countenance he naturally exudes.

The assassin does his best to smile politely, just barely fighting the urge to stand at attention.

"Hello, Mr. Manfred."

"Way back then you'd call me Carl." The old man teases, with a studiously good-natured tone.

"I'm not a child anymore."

That's when Carl's tone changes.

"Definitely not." He says darkly, "So tell me... what are you, then? Because I can tell you what you're _not_ : you're not a business analyst from Ontario."

At Connor's side, Markus does not say one word –he's stubbornly staring to his right, in the general direction of a wood and brass chess set. Connor wonders how fucked he is on a scale from 1 to 10, and Mr. Manfred continues on:

"You're not the adoptive son of a yoga instructor, either. Actually, any trace of you disappears at about the time you ended up in foster care." Carl is speaking slowly, with the voice of a man who wants answers and wants the right ones, "But... for all my effort, I did find something that came to be at just about the time you disappeared. RK800, assassin for hire and the best of the best. Some unscrupulous characters would hazard saying you came here to kill my son."

That is what makes Markus' head whip around to look at him.

Connor almost feels the physical whiplash himself. He needs to choose his words very carefully.

"Sir... fourteen days ago, they would have been right." The small, stunned intake of breath at his right seals it more than his own words. Connor is actually doing this. He's betraying Amanda and the whole agency. "I was given a contract to kill and sent to this location with a yet unannounced target. But when it was revealed to be Markus..."

"You had a _sudden change of heart_?"

Carl might be deserving of his respect for what he tried to do for his sons' safety, but he still rolls his eyes at the interruption.

"Not quite. If Markus had been just another crime lord, I would have had no remorse in killing him, even if he was a dear friend." He clarifies, only now turning to look at those disbelieving eyes. "But it gave me enough pause to ask why, and try as I might I couldn't find a single legitimate reason for someone like Markus to have a contract on his head -background checks kept coming back clean, basically round the clock surveillance showed him as someone who did nothing wrong... I could not, in good conscience, kill an innocent."

"Says the assassin." Carl comments with a raised brow.

Connor returns the challenging look.

"You know better than me that, at least usually, someone with a contract on their head is hardly innocent."

The old man makes a point of thinking about it for a moment, then concedes with a shrug. "Touché. Carry on."

Markus is still not saying anything and honestly it's hell on his already frayed nerves— it hurts worse than the bullet graze sitting still untreated on his shoulder.

He came this far, might as well go the full mile.

“The more I looked into it, the less sense it made. Markus never hurt anyone, he’s just a kind, talented person doing the best they can to live a good life and help others along the way…” Connor bites slightly at his lower lip, “I’ve realized too late the nature of the contract: he walked out on his family name, but it’s what signed the hit on him… you and Leo are too well-protected, but Markus, who likely insists on minimal protection and tries to be on his own as much as possible— he’s vulnerable. He’s a target. And your enemies want to make an example out of him.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much our intel, too.” Carl rubs tiredly at one temple, “the question is… what am I gonna do with you?”

“Wait, you _knew_ about this?!” Markus nearly explodes once he realizes his father knew that there were assassins after him. “ _You knew_ and didn’t think it important to _tell me_?!”

“Markus… you’re always so adamant to stay out of the—”

“That’s _irrelevant_!!!” the painter all but roars, fists clenched and trembling. “My exhibit— my students— my _students,_ dad. My kids. They’ve been put in danger today, because of _me_.”

For what it’s worth, Carl appears genuinely regretful. “I know, son. I’m sorry about how this went down.”

Markus lets out an exasperated huff.

“Simon.” He calls out, “Tend to Connor’s wound and have him rest in my old room. I need to talk for a moment with my father.”

The blonde looks from one Manfred to another, but Carl simply nods. “Do as he says. We do need a moment.”

 _Now_ Connor understands what Markus meant with ‘shitstorm’ in his text to North –family drama is already bad normally, imagine when your dad is the head of the biggest crime syndicate in the city.

He’s hurt, tired, sore and emotionally exhausted, so he follows Simon meekly and barely remembers to watch out for suspicious medication that they could try to give him.

At least Chloe is having a better night than him, hanging out with the nice archery lady.

Heh, maybe they’ll get out of this with a few friends, _if_ they make it to the end alive.


	5. Truths and lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Markus is done being lied to.
> 
> And Connor is done lying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'LL HAVE A PROPER SUMMARY AND NOTES WHEN I'M NOT FIVE MINUTES AWAY FROM HAVING TO LEAVE FOR WORK TAKE MY LOVE BYE
> 
> Edit:  
> Now that I'm not rushing around anymore, I can sit and look at this.  
> First of all, I'm sorry about the slower pace, I just have a lot of things going on, still adapting to the new job and hours, but one does what one can. ♡  
> Second: yay, things finally coming to light!  
> Also, mild porn. XD  
> And Connor getting blueballed, because why not.  
> Clearly, Markus is not as innocent as Connor thought lmao.
> 
> Welp.  
> There it is.  
> Take it. ♡

Connor is not even fully out of hearing range when the screaming match starts.

Obviously, Markus has strong feelings about his dad using his desire to stay out of his business as an excuse not to tell him people close to him could be in danger.

Carl seems to be adopting a _"well, what the hell else did you want me to do?"_ that tells the assassin this isn't the first time they argue about it, and that Markus might be a little bit hypocritical –it sounds likely that, if Carl had brought up his concerns, Markus would have accused him of still trying to 'recruit' him back into the so-called family business.

He feels slightly guilty as Simon closes the door behind them, effectively muffling the conversation— posing as Markus' long lost best friend while also being an assassin sent to kill him definitely doesn't help Markus' case about protecting himself.

Simon sets about disinfecting his shoulder graze and offers him a gentle smile.

"Don't beat yourself up over that. They always argue like this. But they do so out of love and worry."

"How are you still so kind to me?!" Connor can't help it anymore and he just blurts that question out. "I was sent to kill your charge!"

"Yes, but I've been Markus' shadow for the past weeks and watched you protect him for rival attacks instead." The blonde's kind smile turns into a smirk. "Josh and I never had to intervene even once."

Feeling called out, Connor looks away. "I could have just been protecting my kill."

"You wouldn't have come forward to Carl." Is the immediate objection. "In fact, you would have used the chaos at the gallery to make your kill, take proof of Markus' death and disappear."

It's true. It would have been _that_ easy.

Instead, he chose to fight side by side with him, because whichever side Markus is on is the right one, or at least it was when they were kids— that was the difference between them: Markus had a moral compass.

Now? Connor isn't so sure anymore.

The rest of the time needed to finish checking the wound and put a shiny new band-aid over it passes in relative quiet, until Josh enters the room:

"Heads up. Markus is coming, gonna be here any second."

The two bodyguards share a knowing look, and Connor has to ask:

"So... you guys are not actually boyfriends?"

Simon almost chokes on his own giggles, while Josh shrugs.

"Not really?" He says, sounding just slightly dubious himself, "Playing the part is useful when we're together so often to watch over Markus, and we're really good friends anyway—"

"Don't listen to him; I _know_ they fucked at least once." The humor in Markus' voice falls a bit flat against the hardened expression in his eyes. "Please, leave us."

At this point, Connor had been sat down on a chair at Markus' desk that was turned around to face the door so Simon could have easy access to patch him up, but now, alone and staring up at the other, clothing still torn at the seams from the fight, the assassin feels vulnerable and exposed like he hadn't felt in years.

"So... RK800, huh?" There's the barest hint of amusement in that question, concealing a whole world of hurt –that's what Connor would call himself when they played pretend and they'd be a _super-robot duo saving the world_. "Is Connor still your name?"

Connor fights the urge to stand up and help Markus as the other takes off his tattered blazer, and keeps his eyes firmly trained to the floor.

"It's the name that has stayed mine the most."

Which is not an answer, but when you pretty much wipe yourself off public records to go become an assassin for hire, it's as good as it gets.

Surprisingly, Markus doesn't press more questions forward yet, staring instead to slowly pace up and down the room, busying his hands with rolling the sleeves of his white shirt up— that's when Connor notices it's stained slightly in blood. His own clothes are probably in a similar condition.

"You know the accident that made my eyes a different color?" Markus starts suddenly, in what is by all means a complete non-sequitur. "Later on I realized it was an attempted kidnapping. Some men tried to get me to follow them, but I had already been taught not to go with strangers and I just jumped on my bicycle to get away. These assholes shot an actual gun at the rear wheel of my bike not to let me get away. The bicycle obviously toppled forward and I fell face-first into the handlebar and passed out."

The scar on Markus' eyebrow was already thin and white when they met, so that had to have happened at least a year before that...

Shit.

Markus takes a trembling breath as he carries on:

"I hadn't turned 5 yet. There was enough blood that they thought they accidentally killed me, and the gunshot had attracted unwanted attention. They hightailed it out of there, and I was rushed to the ER." He absently rubs a hand against his scarred eyebrow. "I don't remember how my dad explained it away, but I was too young to second-guess it. What I do remember is how fucking stupid I felt when I realized the truth, years later."

Oh. Connor might be starting to get the point of this story.

"I decided I was _done_ being lied to, and that I wanted none of a life that brings people shooting at a 5 year old child." Markus says, much to the assassin's fear, coming to a halt right in front of him and gazing down at him with a mixture of fondness and sorrow. "I always treasured my memories of you— you were the one person who never lied to me, who never tried to take advantage." There's another long, painful beat of silence. "I guess that was just not meant to be my life."

On the one hand, Connor does feel terrible about betraying his childhood best friend's trust, on the other hand... Markus could have spoken up himself at any time.

"For what it's worth, I was rather surprised to find out that the one person I remembered as pure and good was actually just as trained to kill as I am." He remarks, taking this one luxury to call Markus a hypocrite to his face.

The other scoffs and turns away for a moment. "That's not the same—"

" _Bullshit_. It's exactly the same. You could have told me. I would have helped you."

"I thought you were a normal person!" Markus shoots back at him, "I didn't want to drag into this shit the one person I ever—"

It physically hurts Connor that he doesn't finish that sentence.

Dragging a hand over both his eyes, Markus fixes a look on him that is almost pleading.

"Connor. Look at me."

Connor does.

"Was _any of it_ real?"

He could pretend not to know what Markus means. He could pretend he doesn't know Markus is asking about the lighthearted flirting, the days together, that one moment hidden away in the Jericho freighter.

But Markus is done being lied to, and Connor is done lying.

So he looks up at the other in the eyes and says it: "No. Not at the start, at least."

Markus turns away in an almost involuntary surge of movement, his voice a disbelieving whisper of "Son of a bitch."

"But then I started wanting it to be real!" Connor continues, earnestly looking up even though Markus has broken eye-contact now. "I started remembering us as we were and... I wanted that back. I wanted you back. And the line got blurry enough for me to cross it and not notice."

Markus is still not looking at him –Connor hates it. This is exactly the type of hurt he didn't want to inflict on the other. "Fuck, Connor how do you expect me to believe—"

"I know, Markus!!!" He practically roars, emotions getting the best of him, though he still doesn't get up from the chair. "I know how fucking idiotic that sounds! I've been obsessing over it for the last two weeks like a fucking rookie!"

Connor is not the type to swear needlessly, but then again neither had Markus ever been so. If nothing else, shouting and swearing finally got Markus to look back at him.

"You have to believe me, Markus..." Connor almost pleads, for once letting his feelings show in the crease of his brow and the deep rise and fall of his chest. "Yes, I was sent to kill you. But I never wanted to. Ever since I realized what the contract was about, hell, before that even, I've wanted nothing more than drop on my knees before you and beg for forgiveness."

Markus' eyes darken involuntarily at the idea of Connor kneeling for him, his traitorous mind taking a hard left into a completely different territory— _damn it, it's not the place or time!_

The worst thing about this whole mess is that he knows Connor is telling the truth.

He knows, because even though Connor always had everybody else fooled with the angel face, they'd get up to all sorts of mischief together; and while Connor has deceived him by omission, thinking back on their recent interactions Markus still cannot find an outright lie in answer to a direct question— Connor has never really been able to lie to him.

This is all kinds of messed up.

Especially because the truth isn't enough, now. Markus takes a deep breath and swallows it down. He'll need something more substantial than words to convince his father and appease the men.

He doesn't break eye-contact with Connor as he takes the few steps back needed to hit the door with his shoulders, reach a hand back without looking and locking it.

"Then _do it_." He says, barely above a whisper and way more apprehensive than a command should be. "Show me exactly how badly you want forgiveness."

The silence that falls between them is heavy with conflicting emotions, things unsaid and the undeniable tension that has sparked between them ever since that day on the Jericho freighter.

Connor can almost hear his own heartbeat. Once more, he's in a situation that he could easily lie his way through, really ramp it up on the tears, collapsing right out of the chair and spilling his eyes out on command –he's mastered that skill long ago.

He does none of that.

Instead, he keeps his expression level and his gaze trained on Markus as he stands up, walks the few feet separating them, and then –only then– takes the knee.

To his credit, Connor reaches for Markus' hand, first. He closes his eyes and drops a feather-light kiss on the other's knuckles.

"I'm sorry for hurting you, Markus." He whispers against the other's skin, "I would never do so willingly."

They're close enough that Connor can hear the hitch in Markus' breath and see his body have a stifled shudder under his clothes.

"Not even now, that you have me alone and vulnerable?"

At this point, it's a rhetorical question.

Connor shifts his grip from Markus' hand to his thighs, then runs both hands up along the sides of them to go tugging his dress shirt out of his trousers, as he looks up at him.

"Let me show you what exactly I've been wanting to do to you if I could ever get you alone, all this time..."

They both know what's happening, they both know Connor will happily spill the beans on anything that could help destroying this contract on Markus' life and they both know who's in charge: neither of them.

Things just have a way of going off the rails when the other is concerned— Markus has no intention of stopping Connor, and Connor likewise will not try to restrain Markus.

It's what always made their time together so memorable: they always knew they could just let loose together.

The sound of Markus' belt getting undone and sliding out of the trouser hoops is deafening in the silence.

There already was a visible tent in Markus' pants since Connor dropped to his knees in front of him, but even that did not prepare Connor from the not-so-sudden but still very stimulating realization that Markus is _definitely_ all grown up.

_Mother of God, this is happening._

All the things Connor felt back when they were teens and that he buried growing up as an assassin, thinking he'd never get to feel that way again, come back with a vengeance and all at once.

"I thought I'd never get to know what you taste like..." he whispers against the skin of Markus' thigh, mouthing his way up while his hands sneak underneath the dress shirt to grab a hold of the other's hips.

Markus seizes with a gasp when Connor takes him into his mouth, shaking hard enough to hit the back of his head against the door. Neither of them cares.

He's been blown before, by all means it should not feel this disarming, but things always had a way of being more intense whenever Connor was involved— he wasn't lying back at the gallery, and it probably wouldn't surprise anyone to know that what few partners he had in the past 14 or so years have all been bad carbon copies of what he thought Connor would have been.

Clearly, nothing compares to the real thing, and Connor's lips and tongue moving up and down his cock are driving him crazy like it's the first time.

In his defence... it's the first time that matters.

Connor shifts his hands' grip: one hand splays flat against Markus' abdomen to keep him in place, while the other travels down to cup him, almost as if to coax him to thrust deeper— Markus does, hips bucking without his control.

It's very likely that the only reason he hasn't choked Connor is the very firm hand holding him against the door.

Looking down, Markus finds the other holding eye-contact –as if Connor was staring him down over a mountaintop rather than sucking cock.

Trust this son of a bitch to be that proud of how well he can suck someone off— it's either that, or this moment they're sharing, confusing, painful, sexual and messy as it is, means as much to Connor as it does to him, and he doesn't want to miss a second.

Just the thought sends a shiver through Markus' body, making his chest tremble with the effort of breathing in and out slowly.

He doesn't know what to do with his hands, so he lifts one to his mouth, biting down on his palm to resist making too much noise, while he lets his other hand find Connor's head and dive through the brown curls like he's wanted to for years.

Then Connor takes him all the way into his mouth, and the hand Markus was biting down on goes out to punch the wall behind him, a low moan dragging out of his throat deep and unrestrained.

Not long now.

This is _all kinds of messed up_. On so many levels.

Someone out there wants him dead, Connor was one of the people who did up until a little while ago, and here he is, getting blown to bits but not in the way the assassination contractors wanted.

The room around them starts losing contours and sight and sound become muffled, the sensation of Connor's mouth on him becoming the only thing that matters; and before Markus knows it his stomach is tightening and his breath hitches, orgasm crashing down on him hard with Connor's name on his lips and his come on Connor's.

The assassin doesn't give it the slightest care— he just wipes at his lower lip with the cuff of his sleeves and smiles up at Markus like he hung the stars.

"Well... that's how things would start in my mind, at least."

The question leaves Markus' mouth before he can rein it in: "...Then what?"

Connor stands up slowly, his hands running up every inch of Markus that they find along the way, until they're chest to chest and Markus can taste himself on the other's lips.

"Then... I would throw you down on the nearest surface and fuck you like _that_ was the mission I've been hired for."

If he hadn't just had his soul sucked out through his dick, Markus would probably instantly get hard again at the thought.

As things are now, he just grabs Connor by the sides of his face and kisses him, hard, desperate, and uncaring of the fact that that mouth was on his dick just now.

"I'm scared..." he confesses, barely over a mumble, once he pulls away.

Connor's heart nearly breaks at that. "You don't need to be scared of m—"

"I'm scared that this isn't real, and that the next time I close my eyes I'll reopen them and have to choose to either kill you or let you kill me."

No ok, scratch that, _that_ breaks Connor's heart.

"You won't have to, Markus." He assures, hugging him close at the waist –enough that the other can tell Connor has become rock-hard just by sucking him off. "When they bring me back out, I will give up my agency to your father. I want out. And I want to be better. Like you."

"Promise?"

Connor hides the truth, circumvents it, and sometimes he outright lies, but he never broke a promise, _not to Markus_.

"Promise."

As cliché as it sounds, they seal it with a kiss.

It's a chaste, quick one, but another follows after that, and then another, until Markus is opening his mouth for Connor's tongue and his hands are traveling along the buttons of Connor's shirt on the path down to his crotch.

Markus barely has the time to palm the other through his trousers when a knock comes through the door:

"If you guys are... done, Carl wants the both of you back in the salon. North came over with a girl who claims to be Connor's friend and have important information."

Goddamn it, Simon.

Markus separates from Connor's mouth with an audible gasp, then he leans his chin on Connor's shoulder, hand still sitting firmly between Connor's legs even as he speaks through the door:

"Yes, Simon. We'll be out in a second."

In the blonde's defence, it is pretty important— if North brought Connor's 'friend' here, shit is about to get real.

And this mysterious friend doesn't have the luxury of being Markus' long lost love, so there's a limited amount of time before Carl has a bullet put through her skull just to play it safe.

Markus takes one deep breath in and out and untangles himself from Connor reluctantly.

"Sorry..." he breathes against the assassin's cheek before looking at him with a fond, almost sheepish smile.”...guess this makes us even."

Six words. Connor knows that look.

Forgiveness is getting bestowed upon him with those simple six words, and his only penance is, apparently, getting slightly blue-balled and having to face Carl Manfred while sporting a raging hard-on for his son.

Embarrassing, but doable and a veritable bargain in the face of a second chance at love.

 

"I told you, Leo, she's cool!" North is basically having a tantrum at the brunette, uncaring of his status as the city's most powerful crime lord's heir, punching him in the shoulder every other two words, while Leo keeps a hold of Chloe by the arm.

Considering the two guards at the door, unaware that they were friendly, attempted to grab them only to have their asses promptly packed up and handed to them, Leo has the sneaking suspicion the mysterious woman is _letting him_.

"And I told _you_ , North, this is just a precaution." He repeats— god, why can't Markus ever have normal friends? The kind that actually gets intimidated by armed gangsters? "Connor came willingly, and so is doing your friend, uh..."

"Chloe." She supplies, polite and expressionless.

"Chloe...?"

"Just Chloe." Good luck looking for a surname. She committed to betraying the agency with Connor, but that isn't a reason to make herself vulnerable, at least not until her contact tells her Elijah is safe and taken care of.

Glancing sideways, she feels sympathetic for the young Manfred: she knows what it's like to do the dirty work to protect unknowing –or stubborn– family.

Especially knuckleheaded brothers.

Oh, well. At least meeting Carl Manfred in the flesh promises to be an experience.

 

"Carl!" North shouts as soon as they're escorted inside, again uncaring of formalities, "Carl, you gotta help us, Markus is in serious trouble, people are after his ass and not in the fun way! This is Chloe; she's a friend of—"

"Of Connor, yes. The assassin that was originally contracted to kill Markus before the others, but has now taken a shine to protecting him. Correct?" Carl finishes for her, giving both ladies quite a shock. "Connor gave himself up, apparently for Markus' sake, but did not mention an accomplice. So I wonder: what are _your_ motives, miss Chloe?"

North whips around to face Chloe. "Say what?"

"It's true. I'm sorry for not telling you, I feared you wouldn't have helped otherwise." Chloe feels her face go through a genuine emotion for the first time in a long while, and it's regret. Sure, it's only a hint of it, but it's there. She takes a breath and turns to address Carl. "I'm afraid my motives are not quite as noble, Mr. Manfred. I agreed to help Connor with his mission, and now that we're both traitors I either follow this through to the end, or I die."

Leo lets out a low, impressed whistle, while Carl is silent for a long moment before he nods.

"Honesty. I like it." He muses, knowing Chloe is right: he might have her killed if he decides not to trust her, but after what she pulled her agency will have her head without a doubt. Half a chance is better than no chance.

But she could have also cut and run. Disappeared underground.

That she didn't says one more thing about her:

"...and loyalty. A man in my position can respect that." He wheels himself closer to his little cocktail cabinet and starts pouring himself a glass of scotch. "Can I offer you ladies a drink?"

"Whiskey. Straight up." North is normally not that much of a drinker, but after the night she just had she needs something strong— it's not even day yet.

Chloe declines with a smile and a polite shake of the head. If Connor was here, he'd call bullshit and tell her to stop being paranoid.

"So... what exactly are we waiting for?"

North's question is answered in the form of Markus shuffling in, side by side with the infamous Connor.

They both look disheveled, shirts rumpled, untucked and bloodstained, and one of Connor's sleeves has had a bit torn out from the shoulder, likely to treat the bullet graze still visible as a red stain under the gauze.

"What... the hell happened to you two?"

"Brought a bow and arrow to a gunfight." Markus deadpans, secretly glad to have his friend here, but still giving her the _extremely_ short version and omitting the soulful confrontation that ultimately ended in a blowjob, of all things. "You?"

"Auditioning for Charlie's Angels. Leo can be Lucy Liu."

Even the heir himself snorts slightly at that— with North as a redhead and her blond friend, they're only missing a raven after all.

However humorous the remark, though, Leo sobers up pretty quick when Carl clears his voice tersely.

"If we are quite done exchanging playful banter... I'd like to know who sent the original contract for my son's life and why."

"I..." Connor hesitates only for a moment, before stepping forward. "I only have the information my agency provided to me, but Chloe and I are deep in their network and can exploit it piece by piece."

"And what agency is that, pray tell?"

At that question from his father, Leo also trains his gaze firmly on Connor: he's been friendly and reassuring with the other so far for his brother's sake, but the moment things go sideways, even a little... maybe he's a bad brother, but his priority will be Markus' _life_ , not his feelings.

But it seems like Connor has a knack for surprising people:

"Cyberlife. They run a front as a health and home technology company, but under the smokescreen they're the most thickly ramified network of assassin for hire of the entire North American territory."

Goddamn. The rumors on Cyberlife were so few and far in between, even in underground channels, that some people held it to metropolitan legend level, doubting the existence of someone so untraceable, despite the very real results they left behind.

Carl takes a long look at the young people before him. His sons, one eager to follow and the other eager to get away… the assassins who rebelled against their masters… the one who got dragged into this mess for the sole fault of being Markus’ friend.

They’re all so young. They have mixed levels of morality, but none of them deserves to die bloody— not without a fighting chance.

He sighs deeply.

“I have two choices in front of me right now.” He says shooting them all a solemn look that makes him appear far taller than his position at his wheelchair. “One, I could quickly and painlessly execute the two of you, swear North to silence and get Markus into custody until _I’ve_ made an example of all the assassins sent after him…”

Markus immediately steps forward too, to take Connor’s hand, and there’s a gasp of protest from North –funnily enough, the two people whose life he threatened remained silent and motionless.

They know what they were risking and are ready to accept it.

“…Or I could listen to what you have to say. Get your help, and send the same message, so strongly that no one would ever dare attempt such an endeavor ever again.”

Hearing his father even mention the hypothesis makes Markus instantly breathe out in relief –and that kind of seals it for Carl, too.

Close as he is to Markus, Connor can hear him mutter “Please…” and he has no words if he even wanted to speak— they haven’t talked about _anything_ , let alone what’s between them, they just had a cathartic sort of fight where they laid the truth of each other out and left it there like a fresh scab that needs to heal… and still Markus is almost literally _praying_ for him.

Goddamn it all, he is in love.

This is doing nothing to make his physical state any less conspicuous, but the other occupants in the room mercifully ignore that, in favor of the much more pressing concern.

“Alright. Here’s my offer.” Carl finally announces, after the long pause, “Help me save my son. Dispose of all the attackers, find the source, destroy it so thoroughly that no one will ever dare to _think_ of getting close to my sons, and you’re both out. I’ll give you the financial means and firepower to take your own agency down, _and_ get your freedom.”

At Chloe’s side, North as a surge forward in relief, turning her head and trying to hide a broken sob because she’s a tough girl and tough girls _don’t_ sob –no one told her that it’s something _all_ humans do from time to time, but she’s been getting better on that. It’s a process.

Chloe limits her reaction to placing a comforting hand on the redhead’s shoulder –it puzzles her that a semi-stranger, one that got into trouble because of her, would feel so much empathy _for_ her. She does appreciate it, though, and would have probably hugged had they not been in public.

Connor, instead, doesn’t take his eyes off Carl. “It will be my honor to consider this my last mission, sir.”

The old Manfred just raises an eyebrow at him, but Markus knows the meaning behind that word—

Connor’s favorite catchphrase, when they used to play superheroes, was _‘I always accomplish my mission’_.

Only this time, they’ll be fighting side by side for real, risking their actual lives.

Well.

Markus guesses he can take that –it’ll be just like old times.

Catching his son’s gaze, Carl finally allows himself a chuckle.

“Yes. Well… for now, get out of here, get a shower, some clean clothes and at least an hour of sleep.” He might be a crime lord, but he still is a father, and he’s not completely immune to his sons’ puppy eyes quite yet. “What are you looking at? Scram. Go rest.”

Markus is all too happy to oblige, especially considering there’s a _whole lot_ of things he needs to talk out with Connor, but he has time for one thing before getting started: he runs over to Carl to lean down and hug him.

“Thanks, dad.”

“It’s the right thing to do.” Carl whisper in reply.

Lord knows he hasn’t done many of those in his life— he can at least do this one, for his family’s sake.


	6. Suspended

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“If these assholes want a piece of me, they’ll have to come to Jericho.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus it's been almost a month since I last updated anything.
> 
> I'm not gonna lie, I'm feeling very burned out lately.  
> I guess it was coming.  
> I have something like 32 DBH stories under my belt, written in the span of roughly a year, three of which are novel length, several more novella-length, and lord knows how many one shots.  
> No matter how often and how accurately I cosplay as Markus, I will never be a machine.
> 
> I'm planning to finish this story _and_ Monster AU, and after that I'll take a break, possibly a whole month without writing.  
> I kind of need it.  
> Hopefully, I'll come back stronger than before.
> 
> In the meantime, I want to preemptively thank everyone who's still around to read these stories, everyone who has supported me in the past, and the people over at the rk1k discord especially.  
> I'd be nowhere near as active if it wasn't for you guys.  
> Hopefully, these two endings will not be too underwhelming.  
> Take my love. ♥
> 
> p.s.: I'm making the next chapter of this the last no matter what, so it'll probably take some time to come, especially since Monster AU it's next up in the queue.  
> thanks for being understanding. ♥

"On closer inspection... you do look like shit."

Despite the situation, Markus manages a stilted smile at the comment, as he peels off his ruined shirt.

"Yeah, well so do you."

They're in his old room again to actually recuperate from the fight, and Markus wasted no time in getting some spare clothes out for himself and Connor, pointing him to the bathroom door –keeping busy staves off the tension.

Sure, they had their little cathartic moment, but that did not actually solve shit— even though Connor _did_ just make an extremely loaded promise to Carl, so Markus knows he's serious, at the very least.

Not that it makes him any less apprehensive about the impending _'what now?'_ between them.

Just a few feet away, Connor tracks Markus' movements with his eyes –the assassin tracks the way his hands slowly slide the shirt down and away from his back, careful not to disturb the bruises that get revealed inch by inch, is a practiced movement; like it's not the first time he does this.

So much for the naïve, innocent man teaching art to kids.

Damn it, Connor has to _stop_ clinging to the image of the past –Markus seems to be doing a fine job of overlooking _his_ lies, the least he can do is use the other the same courtesy.

There's a particularly nasty line of purple splotches running diagonally down from the right shoulder-blade to the left hipbone— must be from when Markus threw himself on the ground to dodge a bullet while still releasing his arrow... landing on the quiver like that must have been painful.

It's not too terribly impressive if one thinks the alternative to that would have been death, but still.

It's definitely not something to scoff at.

Then realization hits Connor that Markus is not going to wait until he's out of sight to undress completely, and his body forcefully reminds how badly he still _wants to touch_.

Will it be poor form to ask so soon?

"Markus, I—" he doesn't even know what to say. How would he put it anyway? _'Hey I know a lot of Serious Shit is happening right now but my raging hard-on for you is still going strong and I wondered if you'd like to jump on this dick?'_

...yeah, that would definitely be poor form.

"You know, usually people take their clothes off while showering."

Once more, Markus manages to make him speechless in ten words or less. Is he assuming for certain that they'll shower together?

Connor is sure he has the dumbest expression of confusion on his face. "What?"

Markus seems to pick up on that, and gives a tired shrug.

"Look. There's... a lot going on, right now. Hell, I can barely wrap my mind around the _basics_ of what happened tonight." He says, making quick work of the rest of his clothes and stepping into Connor's space to help him along, "I can't presume to know more than you about… all of this, but one thing I _do_ know is that I'll drive myself insane if I try to make sense of it all at once: I'm tired, sore, scared, I almost died; and a lot more death was narrowly avoided. If it's all the same to you, I'd rather have this moment before we move to tackle the big picture."

That is... not unreasonable, all things considered. His assassin brain also catches up to one particular fact: by keeping him here, Markus has him 'supervised' without the need of a guard to do it, simultaneously avoiding the feeling of being a prisoner for Connor and appeasing the need for security from his family— if they're in the shower together, Connor won't go snooping around while waiting and potentially get in trouble.

"And I guess keeping an eye on me is a bonus?" He asks, letting Markus take his shirt off -they are close enough that Connor can feel the other's body heat coming off him.

Markus just smirks slightly at him. "A lot has changed over the years, but I still _know you_."

"Touché."

"I'm serious, Connor, they're trusting you for now, but the second you give them a reason to doubt you it's gonna be a .9mm bullet up your ass."

It's what breaks Connor's resolve and finally makes him smile: this is the real Markus. It's still the bright-eyed, caring dork he remembers, but he's also a guy not to be messed around with that has no reservations about letting you know exactly what is up.

"When you put it like that... a shower together sounds great." Connor assures, finally starting to get rid of the rest of his clothes. He gets a mischievous look in his eyes: "We can… pick up where we left off."

Connor would be even more of a liar if he said he doesn't enjoy the way Markus lowers his eyes, cheeks coloring slightly: it's way too late for either of them to get shy, but Markus always retained a certain sort of bashfulness about him; it's all part of his soft, 'boy next door' charm... except this particular boy next door can straight up skewer asses like William Tell if the situation calls for it.

To Markus' credit, it doesn't take him long to look back up at Connor.

"Let's just... catch a breather and see where it goes."

Connor doesn't have to be told twice.

He follows Markus into the shower –and _boy_ is he glad for rich people having a thing about fancy, spacious bathrooms, because _God_ , this is heaven and then some.

The hot water hitting his tired limbs lifts a soreness from Connor's shoulder that he hadn't even noticed being there, used as he is to 'walk it off' or 'tough it out'.

It's also reminiscent of lighter days, when he'd get into all sorts of trouble with Markus at the docks and they'd come back from Jericho covered in dust and motor oil: Carl wouldn't let them have any snacks until they washed up so, coming to think of it, this is not at all unfamiliar –they're just cleaning blood off each other, this time, letting the laughter bubble up in their chests like it always did back then.

Shit, how is he actually contemplating sentimentality while _still_ painfully hard for Markus?

Whatever reminiscing was left in him comes to a screeching halt when his sight actually focuses on the other, naked and wet under the shower spray and within breathing distance. Then Markus shifts the wrong way –or maybe exactly right– and freezes in place, obviously feeling Connor's arousal at his back.

There's only so much space in a shower, no matter how fancy, so there's no hiding this.

Markus draws a shaky breath and starts to turn around, but Connor's hands come up to his hips and hold him in place.

He leans in and to the side, to whisper the question in Markus' ear:

"Do you trust me?"

The breathless little chuckle alone is almost enough to make Connor's knees weak.

"It's not fair of you, asking like this..."

Markus' words aren't really an answer, but his actions speak louder as he just turns his head to the side enough to try and reach of a kiss.

Connor is more than happy to meet him halfway.

It's technically only their second kiss, but Connor can tell kissing Markus will climb very high, very fast on his list of favorite things to do.

He lets his hands travel up Markus' torso as they kiss slow and deep under the water, not quite able to resist cupping a feel of solid pectorals and making Markus practically giggle against his lips.

Then one of Connor's hands travels all the way back down, prompting an approving hum from Markus, until it reaches its prize and Markus has to smack a forearm against the shower tiles to keep himself upright.

"Shit— we don't have— I... fuck... I've never— not without..."

Knowing Markus as well as he does, Connor immediately guesses what that broken gibberish is about.

It's disproportionally endearing that Markus still has that kind of reservations –then again, it is a big deal for people with a normal life that aren't used to working around certain problems; and Connor can recognize that out of the two of them, Markus has the better mindset about this. He drops feather kisses behind his neck and shoulders as he speaks:

"I test regularly, but I'll go grab something if you point me in the right direction."

He is rewarded with a shaky nod and a likewise trembling sigh in and out. "Medicine cabinet, to the left of the mirror."

Connor smirks against the other's skin, right hand lingering on Markus' cock for a moment.

"I'll be right back." He whispers, "And I want to find you working yourself up for me, understand?"

The only reply thrown his way is a drawn out "Mh-mmm..." and Connor takes it as a compliment.

It takes him less than a minute to find what he needs –he doesn't bother with lube, they’re plenty slick enough thanks to the water, and they can both clearly tough through much worse...

He still nearly drops the condom he just took when he turns back around and, true to his promise, Markus is still bracing against the tile with a forearm and _'working_ _himself up'_ with his free hand, but instead of going for the obvious Markus has started fingering himself.

Connor was just going off his own personal fantasy when he talked about bending Markus over, but it looks like Markus doesn't mind in the least.

The assassin licks his lips as he gets close again, running one hand from the nape of Markus' head along his back and all the way down to his ass, taking care to go dutifully soft on the bruises.

"God, you're so fucking beautiful..."

Markus follows the caress with a shiver and exhales loudly when he feels Connor cover his back with his chest and line himself up— this is happening right now. There are dozens of things they could and probably _should_ be doing in light of all the crazy shit happening around them, but in this moment, this one slice of quiet, Markus is dead set on letting himself be selfish and have this.

Wordlessly, Connor slowly pries Markus' hand from behind him and laces their fingers together instead.

"Ready?"

"You've kept me waiting fifteen years." It's out of Markus' mouth before he realizes the kind of feelings such a statement indirectly confesses to. “I’m _more_ than ready.”

He feels the hitch in Connor's breath through his own torso.

"Markus..." the trembling, whispered call of the other's name is the only sound Connor can bring himself to make as he grabs Markus by the hip with his free hand and slowly eases himself in.

Connor is not one for hyperbole, but taking Markus like this against the tiled wall feels like what he imagined heaven would be like.

Not that he'd ever go there, but still.

Markus moans for him, arching away from the wall and pushing against it with his forearm, and he tries to grind back on Connor for all he's worth.

The rush of hot water over them has nothing on how absolutely _ablaze_ Markus' skin feels under Connor's touch, and he's loving every inch of it.

Speaking of inches... Connor allows himself a smirk against Markus' shoulder as he starts moving inside him and shifts his hand from the other's hip to go forwards and down.

The gasp Markus rewards him with when Connor grabs his cock is absurdly satisfying— God, Connor wants to hear more of those delicious sounds.

Markus brings up his other hand to brace against the tiles as well, which means Connor's hand follows since their fingers are still laced together –not that he'd have any other way. It also adds stability to their position, so, win-win.

He just keeps stroking Markus with his free hand, drinking every little gasp and moan spilling from the other's lips.

Shower sex is not as glamorous as some people would think— too much slippery surface and risks of actually getting hurt for Connor's tastes; so he actually tries to make it fast and hard, picking up the pace as he bites down on Markus' shoulder to stop himself from being too loud.

Despite what Carl said, someone is probably still close by in case he tries anything... not that Connor cares what they hear, he's just used to keeping quiet.

It's admittedly hard to do so, when every shift and arch of Markus' toned back in response to his ministrations drives Connor absolutely fucking crazy with thoughts of _'yes', 'please'_ and _'more'_ ; and Connor predictably starts to lose himself in the intensity of the moment, again, thrusting into Markus at an increasingly frantic pace and relishing in the serenade of groans and hums he gets in return.

At one point there's a dull thud that Connor recognizes as Markus' forearm hitting the tiled wall a bit too hard, possibly scraping his elbow. It's almost inconceivable; to worry about that while literally balls-deep in the other, but the assassin has a small stutter and brokenly calls out:

"Markus—"

"I'm _fine_ , keep going!" Connor had barely got the first syllable out when Markus practically growls at him not to stop. " _Fuck_ , Connor, keep going..."

He smirks against the nape of Markus' neck— of course Markus would be the type to 'tough it out'.

It's just as well. Markus' body is just as intoxicating as everything else about him, and Connor feels like he's losing control more and more with every thrust and every sound that spills from the other's mouth.

Not much longer now.

Connor's pace gets faster and faster, and the hand that is not tangled with Markus' is jerking him off just as mercilessly as he's pounding him from behind.

Markus comes with a full body shudder and Connor's name on his lips— _again_.

It takes embarrassingly little for Connor himself to finish after that.

They stay frozen like that for a few seconds under the shower spray, Connor leaning his forehead against Markus' broad shoulders while the other stands, fists clenched and forearm still braced against the tiles.

As he slowly comes down from the high, Connor trails a few kisses along Markus' shoulder, tracing a few of the bruises he finds with his lips. That's when he notices:

"Your arm is bleeding."

Markus chuckles, low and sated and _God_ , it almost is enough to make Connor wish he still had the refractory period of a teenager, to go for round two.

"It's just a scratch. I'll be fine." The painter says with a sigh, turning his head to the side again to search for Connor's mouth with his, "Let's actually wash off now, hm?"

Connor couldn't refuse that request if he wanted, not when the small, chaste peck that Markus gives to the corner of his lips feels heavier and more important than the sex they just had –and he hasn't even pulled out yet.

He does so slowly and carefully, chucks the condom out of the stall and onto the bathroom floor, to be disposed of later, and gets to work to clean Markus's scrape as best as he can under the running water.

"You don't have to do that—"

"I _want to_." Connor shuts down Markus' protest with a smile and a fond look from under his lashes. He takes to washing Markus off entirely, almost with reverence –however much it's possible to show reverence to someone you just pounded up the ass, but Connor somehow pulls it off, if only with small, careful and adoring touches and fond looks from underneath his lashes.

Markus lets him, at least until he decides it's his turn.

Of all things he starts from washing and rinsing Connor's hair— Connor is confused for a moment, until he realizes it's just an excuse for Markus to card his hands through it.

This is ridiculously domestic.

The water has been lukewarm at best for a while now, and Connor looks Markus up and down before sighing deeply.

"As much as it pains me to say this..." he runs a slow caress down Markus' chest, pausing to indulge in caressing Markus’ chest again, "...We should probably dry off and get some clothes on."

This bubble they got themselves suspended in will burst with the harsh reality waiting for them outside, whether they want to or not.

 

Markus' house clothes are stained in paint at the sleeves and scuffed at the knee.

He tries to apologize about it, mentioning that he never really comes back here and only left a minimum of things over at Leo's insistence, but Connor assures him it's fine.

As he looks hin the mirror, watching his own face with his hair curly and messy rather than slicked back and the oversized t-shirt making him look smaller and softer, Connor almost smirks— a perfect deception.

Then a thought hits him: he could have _really_ been like that. Soft, innocent, with hands not stained in blood.

And suddenly he resents his reflection for looking like what he could never have –his gaze hardens, the line of his mouth thins and the assassin under the angel face shines through, as obvious as his regret.

Markus breaks his reverie by hugging him from behind and kissing the side of his neck.

"Whatever you're thinking about... don't." He whispers, "We'll figure this out, all of this."

Oh, Markus.

Connor closes his eyes and puts one of his hands over the other's. Markus had tried to do what the assassin never even thought about: he tried walking away, living a quiet, unassuming life, until jackasses all around him decided to shove him into a feud that he had no interest in, and assholes like Connor enabled it.

Connor silently vows he'll see the person that caused this _demolished_.

 

When they emerge from the confines of Markus' room, Leo sends a look to his brother that speaks volumes, between the raised eyebrows and the pointed glance at his scraped arms— though, mercifully enough, he does not comment.

They all gather in the salon to discuss where to take it from there, North is sitting on the couch clutching a glass of scotch she's not really drinking and with Chloe sitting by her side, while Carl is in his wheelchair, at the coffee table's other side, Leo dutifully standing beside him while Markus has, for reasons Connor can only approximate to feelings of comfort, chosen to sit at the grand piano.

He chooses to stand near him, for no reason other than wanting to be close and, maybe foolishly, hoping his presence is an added comfort for Markus.

Carl looks over to his son with a tight expression, before he starts speaking.

"My guys have been scouring the underground, but no one seems to know where the first contract came from."

Which is the most disturbing thing. There are only two gangs that oppose Carl in Detroit, or try to with any chance of making a dent in the Manfred underground empire, but if either one of those had gotten that 'bright' idea it would have filtered out in his information network by now.

Not to mention that either of those two gang leaders would first have had to confirm the existence of a brother to Leo, nevermind confirming Markus' identity in particular.

Carl would have gotten wind of such an investigation much before the first assassination attempt at the range. Instead, they’re faced with what is basically a _bounty_ on Markus’ head.

They spend a while trying to talk it out, until Leo has an epiphany of sorts:

"What if it's an outsider?"

All the eyes in the room turn to him.

“Who would stand to gain from having Markus dead and make it seem like your rivals’ idea?” Connor asks, intrigued by the young Manfred’s theory.

Leo shrugs. “Anyone?” he starts, clearing his voice to explain himself better, “Well, anyone wanting a slice of Detroit’s underground cake. Sure, the riverside boys and the Orlovs are a pain in the ass, but father still manages to run a pretty tight ship. No outside crime passes into Detroit without us knowing.”

It is, after all, the reason why Connor got made relatively fast.

Carl feels his old heart skip a few beats in apprehension. “Of course… nevermind trying to protect Markus, if any of our rivals ever _succeeded_ in killing him, they know we’d go crazy with grief and spend all of our energy and resources in exacting revenge— very likely doing something stupid and exposing an easy flank.”

“So the outsider draws up the contract for Markus’ life, brings it into Detroit where it makes sense, and when your rivals ask who’d be crazy enough to go against you, they sow the seed of power lust and make it _their_ idea…” Connor finishes for him darkly. “Clever… and efficient.”

He smirks grimly, expression turning into a grimace— it almost sounds like something Cyberlife would do.

They’ve overthrown the odd criminal empire or two with similar tactics, swooping in while the gangs are busy slaughtering each other.

It’s as likely a theory as any, though it rides on the worrying assumption that this mysterious outsider already knew Markus existed _and_ that he’s Carl’s son –so this whole operation is likely the result of a _very_ long effort.

“If I may… I have a suggestion.” Chloe speaks up after a long silence. “No one can be protected forever, and there have already been two close calls for Markus…”

Connor would actually say there have been five or six, but stays his mouth and lets her continue.

“But no one would send out hitmen for someone who’s already been killed. Markus can take some leave from his school; while we spread the rumor in the underground that he died in the gallery shootout… and that it was his best friend who killed him.” Chloe proposes, finding Connor’s gaze with an encouraging expression, “Our contractor would simply wait for his return; both gangs will try to contact him to either claim the kill or make use of his services against you and Leo…”

Even Markus himself gets onboard with the direction this is going in: “And the outsider will probably step in to either pay the promised reward or get rid of uncomfortable third parties.”

“Precisely.” Chloe confirms, “We could spread the rumor, send out an offer for the better bidder to come collect the ‘body’, and set up an ambush instead.”

“And put Markus at risk? Out of the question.”

It’s a terrible situation all around, but it still warms Markus’ heart that his baby brother is so dead set on protecting him— it’s the reason why he didn’t _completely_ walk away… he disapproves the family’s activities and the choices that led his father and Leo where they are today… but they all still love each other, dearly so. He sends a pained but affectionate look to his brother.

“Leo… I’m already at risk.” He says, “I’ve been at risk since this started. You can either send me out with proper back up, or leave me somewhere while the bulk of our forces goes out to deal with this… giving someone clever enough the perfect chance to ambush me instead.”

“It’s true.” North pipes in, chuckling uncomfortably behind the rim of her scotch glass, “No one wastes arrows on a deer that’s already dead.”

And no one in their right mind would take aim at the dead guy first.

Carl nods. “It can work.”

“It _will_ work.” Connor assures, “We get rid of _this_ enemy, and then we take the fight out to _her_.”

Right, the mysterious Lady in charge of Cyberlife’s operations. Carl shakes his head –whoever she is, she had a chance to let people believe Cyberlife was run by a man, since women are _still_ routinely underestimated in this world, which would have been an advantage in keeping secrets… but he guesses even people who try to stay invisible have at least a little bit of an ego.

That is, if this ‘Lady’ really does exist.

“Leo. Talk to Josh and Simon, make some preparations for the rumors to spread, but don’t do it until Markus has put in his request for leave at the school.”

A bit reluctantly, Markus himself nods: “I’ll get on that right away.”

This way, his voluntary informing the people around him that he’ll be away is not dissonant with the fact that he should be dead— better even, it’ll look like he tried to run away and got killed in the process.

“As soon as the voice starts to spread, I’ll close the range for a few days for ‘personal reasons’.” North adds, “Everyone knows Markus and I are close friends, no one will question it.”

“Which leaves us with one question… where to set up the exchange?”

They all mull it over briefly, until Markus stands up from his seat.

“The docks. The old decommissioned freighter.” He announces, with finality in his voice, “If these assholes want a piece of me, they’ll have to come to Jericho.”

Leo looks like he wants to protest— that old rusty ship is quite literally falling apart, unsafe and all kinds of dangerous; but that’s precisely why it’s such a good idea: Markus, Connor, and to a lesser degree even North, Josh and Simon know it like the back of their hands.

Terrain advantage can be crucial in battle.

Looks like they have a plan.

“Alright… if it’s cool with everyone I’ll go find myself a guestroom and crash, now.”

Chloe smiles sympathetically when she hears North’s words –the whole night has been one scare to the other for her, not to mention this whole mess with her oldest, closest friend in mortal danger.

She actually catches the scotch glass as it slips through the redhead’s fingers, uncaring of the liquor spilling over and staining her nice blouse.

“Easy… I’ve got you.” She whispers, keeping her free hand around North’s shoulders, “Mr. Manfred, if someone could show us somewhere North can get some rest…”

Carl finally sheds the crime lord façade and smiles like the old father he is. “Of course.”

Tension finally winding down for all of them, Connor finds himself nearly giving out too. Markus laces fingers with him, talking to him in a whisper:

“Let’s go.”

Leo falls into step with them until a certain point –his own room is a few doors down from Markus’.

“You know, Connor, I really do like you.” He starts, carefree and collected as he’s been this whole time, “And I think it’s great that you and my brother found each other again…”

The assassin knows what’s coming before it’s even out of the young Manfred’s mouth. “But?”

“But if you hurt my brother, or he gets hurt because of you in any way, shape or form, there’s nowhere you can run where I won’t find you, and when I’m through with you no one will recognize your remains… assuming anything at all remains. We have a small farm out in the countryside, and pigs will eat _anything_.”

“I’m right here, you know?” Markus huffs in a token protest, clearly too tired himself to actually bother being embarrassed.

“It’s okay, Markus… your brother cares about you.” Connor assures, then focusing his attention on Leo, “And if something like that ever happens, he’s more than welcome to give it a _try_.”

“Ok, but in the meantime I’m still very much alive, can you guys take a raincheck on the whole brutally murdering each other for my sake thing? Possibly for the next 80 or so years?”

Leo is the first one to cave as he smiles. “Of course. For you, brother.”

Moments like these are the ones where they can feel like the family they could have been. It makes Markus slightly wistful, but he still nods. “Thanks. Night, Leo.”

“Alright, I know when I’m a third wheel. Night, guys!”

Leo disappears down the hall and Connor lets Markus lead him to bed. _His_ bed, Connor thought he would have trouble sleeping enough tonight, if at all, but as he gets under the covers and into Markus’ arms, he feels calmer than he has in years.

He falls asleep in minutes, and his last thought, before drifting off, is that yes, this was the right choice.

Betraying Cyberlife, going against Amanda, abandoning everything else… it’s worthy, if only to have even just _one_ moment of this.

He will fight, until the very last drop of blood.


	7. NOTICE - DISCONTINUED

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I won't keep writing this story, but some closure was in order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Um.  
> Yeah.
> 
> I have fallen out of love with Detroit and its fandom (a certain someone once said that fandom manages to ruin perfectly good things -not that Detroit was a 'perfectly good thing', it definitely has its flaws, but I digress), and find myself unable to wrench any genuine enthusiasm to keep writing DBH fanfiction any more.  
> If I have to be completely honest, I had fallen out of love with the fandom a long while ago, but did not want to disappoint the people still wanting more content.  
> I tried to remedy that by writing more AUs, since it allowed me to branch farther out and onto more fun things than just sticking to a canon which people could never seem to peacefuly agree to disagree about, but alas, I burned myself out.  
> Then I tried to write _trough_ the burnout... and we all know how it went down.  
> It didn't.  
> So yeah, I'm stopping here with Detroit for now.  
> I still love rk1k as a pairing and will headcanon the shit out of them, but I'm throwing in the towel as far as being a writing machine on demand goes.  
> Long gone are the days of shitting out a chapter a day, and I have too tough of a time working a full time job that barely covers my rent to afford myself the luxury of writing something that is not pleasurable for me anymore.  
> I'm just dropping a quick summary of the notes I had left about the story's events, just to give closure to whoever was left that still cared about these stories.

  * Markus goes to hide in Connor's apartment to fake his death, while Connor pretends to still be Cyberlife's little dog and Chloe makes arrangements to keep Elijah safe and out of harm's way -Cyberlife knew which hospital he was in, which was how they had extorted her loyalty: paying the bills for very expensive medical care and holding her brother's life over her head.


  * She confides this to North, despite not having known her long, because fuck it, if we're going to die in a few days at least I want someone to know me and care for me as I am, not for the person I could never completely pretend to be.


  * North understands that, and tells her that life on the outskirts of normalcy down in Detroit is bleak, you're not quite at picket-fence level but you're not completely down the rabbit hole either, and you spend your days wondering if anything you've ever done will make any difference at all; and that if these are her last days on Earth, she has no regrets, because she met Chloe, and ever since she did things have been hectic, and scary, but at least they aren't bleak.


  * Once the voice spread that Markus is "dead", they set up the ambush in Jericho.


  * Connor sends the usual coded message to Cyberlife to inform them of a mission accomplished to try and see if that would make the organization betray itself about having orchestrated the entire thing.


  * There's the obligatory "this is weird" moment as Connor helps Markus into a bodybag, to which Markus jokes "Why? Turning necrophiliac?" he was clearly trying to diffuse the tension and his own nervousness but he still gets punched in the arm by Connor because honestly, that was in terrible taste, what the fuck, Markus.


  * When both gangs who opposed Carl's underground empire come to Jericho, it's not as much of a surprise as Connor would have liked it to be that neither faction comes to him with the proper coded message to confirm the kill and the transaction.


  * North, Chloe, Simon and Josh are also hiding around the ship and the docks, in strategic points to spring up into action when shit goes down -North is a little more in love every passing second when she sees Chloe disguised with black hair, colored contacts and baggy clothes miles away from her usually prim look, but it's obviously not the time- she's posing as a street musician and singing a song called "[Riverside](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5y-B8G4O5NM)", which Connor kind of hates her for because he came out here just to ambush and murder some fools and he honestly feels so attacked right now, but the song has its purpose: soon as she stops, it means reinforcements are coming and they're in deeper shit.


  * Either way, very awkward moment in which there are two high-profile people from different gangs trying to stake a claim that neither of them actually has, very awkward, and eventually guns get pointed and they start fighting it out.


  * Connor says something along the lines of "Terribly sorry, but if neither of you can prove contract ownership, the deal is off -all guns get pointed at him, but suddenly an arrow sails through the air and spears through one guy's arm, gun clattering down on the ship's deck somewhere, and the other dude drops his in fear because _the goddamn bodybag just stood up and unzipped itself._


  * Markus is standing there, with another arrow nocked and aimed, going "You wouldn't believe how stuffy these things are."


  * Disbelief running aplenty gives Connor the advantage he needed to wreack absolute havoc and he and Markus have another tag-team death match on Jericho, much like in the game.


  * Reinforcements do come from all direction, but down on the docks Simon, Josh, Chloe and North are more than capable to take care of things, or at least buy some time until Leo arrives with _their_ reinforcements.


  * So. Big honking battle with gunshots, arrows everywere and everything, until a nondescript grey car comes up in a shriek of tires and a rear window rolls down to let a sniper rifle lean out.


  * As anticlimactic as it seems, Chloe's shout of "Sniper!!!" is all it takes for Markus to loose an arrow _exactly_ through the car's window.


  * He doesn't kill the sniper, he kills the person who was sitting beside them, but that jostles the car enough for the sniper to miss his mark -or rather, he does hit Connor, but it's a non-lethal hit and Connor manages to shoot the sniper himself before the fucker can even reload.


  * After all the massacre and whatever little pawns remanining preferring a hasty retreat rather than be shot or skewered, they go to inspect the car and the person who just got kebab'd by Markus' arrow is none other than Amanda herself.


  * Chloe identifies her, having been the only one high up enough on the chain of command to know her face.


  * The "Lady" is dead.
  * And the one to kill her was the very same person she wanted to use as a scapegoat to seize control of Detroit through a clever ruse.


  * In the silence, Markus describes a wide arc with his bow. "Is there _anyone else_?"
  * The message is clear, and whoever was still left goes running after that.


  * Connor looks over at Chloe and North, who had been fighting shoulder to shoulder, and shares a look of joy, disbelief and, yes, pain, at the thought of it finally being over -you get so used to the chain that once you're free you don't know what to do with yourself, but they'll get through it. They'll all get through it -none of them have to be alone anymore.


  * There's only the car's driver still in there, who's probably shitting bricks at this point, and with one last nod at Chloe, Connor nods, holds his bleeding side with one hand and knocks on the driver's window with the other.


  * "Crawl back." he says in his 'heartless bastard' voice, "And tell them to consider this our _resignation letter_."


  * He then finally turns to MArkus, smiling lovingly at him.... takes three steps and falls the fuck over because he's been gut-shot and has given no shits about that for several minutes now.


  * Connor wakes up at Markus' place -not Manfred Manor, Markus' actual place, where he lives away from the family's underground activities.


  * Markus tells him he's been drifting in and out of consciousness for a few days, but he's recovering well. Rumor is spreading through the Underground: the battle for Jericho was so insane that people have started believing thatthere never was a second Manfred son to begin with, and whoever "Markus" was was actually a sort of human honeypot to draw out rival gangs and decimate Carl's competition in one fell swoop.


  * Exposing Cyberlife and killing Amanda has crippled that particular organization and, with the local gangs being rather pissed at being ambushed by outsiders in their Country and law enforcement breathing down his neck after "anonymous informants" magically dropped a goldmine on Hank's desk about Cyberlife's activity in Detroit; it's only a matter of time until Cyberlife is completely torn apart.


  * And if "someone" is giving the local Police Department and Social Services a nudge towards rehabilitating the younger people found victims of such an organization and secretly financing youth centers for the exact purpose of giving these teens and young adults a semblance of a normal life, well... Carl definitley doesn't know anything about that. No sir.


  * Eventually, things get back to normal, or as normal as they can get when you once were a trained assassin or a criminal empire's would-be heir, but Markus and Connor make it work.


  * It's not exactly a Happily Ever After, but whatever it is, this time is _theirs_ , and that's more than enough.




End file.
